


Behind Closed Doors

by LollipopCop



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Eventual Sex Against a Chalkboard, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Pining Sherlock, Rimming, Romance, Sex at work, Sexual and Romantic Tension, Teacher/Teacher, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock falls head-over-heels for his new co-worker, John Watson. He slightly suspects that John may be interested in him, too, but there's a problem: how is he supposed to make a move when they're confined to their classrooms and surrounded by students?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Commence Operation Flirting

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write a Teacher/Teacher story because I want there to be hot sex against a chalkboard. That sex will happen down the road.  
> Also, I love sexual/romantic tension in the workplace :D  
> By the way, if I get anything wrong with the UK school system or anything like that, let me know since I'm American. I mean, the story is mainly about the tension between Sherlock and John so it wouldn't matter too much, but I would still like to avoid inaccuracies if I can.

Sherlock absentmindedly stirred sugar in his cup of coffee, not at all listening to who was speaking to him, humming every few moments to make it seem like he was paying attention. Who exactly was talking to him, again? It didn’t matter. Sherlock wasn’t looking at them. The person was probably rambling on about something trivial, like exam dates, or something about the wellbeing of students, or something else not worth his time at the moment. He had more important things on his mind.

He was staring across the teacher’s lounge the new Anatomy teacher. Well, he was new to the school, but a few months had passed and the friendly man quickly fit in with the other teachers. How he fit in with Sherlock, on the other hand, was a different story. Sherlock liked the man, he really did. He couldn’t believe it at first and spent the entire month of September pondering why he liked the new teacher. Sherlock supposed his feelings had to do with the man’s physical attractiveness, but he was able to resist his urges before.

The point is that for whatever reason, Sherlock liked John.

Or, Mr. Watson, as Sherlock had to refer to him. They were pretty friendly with each other since John arrived at the beginning of the school year, but not enough to really be on a first-name basis. Still, Sherlock called him “John” in his mind. He wasn’t sure why; it just felt right. There was a part of him that wanted John to call him “Sherlock”, too. Again, he didn’t know why. Maybe they would become close enough to use each other’s first names. That was Sherlock’s goal, anyway (well, not his _only_ goal, but it was certainly on the list).

To Sherlock’s complete surprise, he actually wanted to woo John. However, that proved to be easier said than done.

Sherlock knew John for five months now, but their relationship was about the same as it was when school started. All of their previous encounters had been...awkward, at best. Their conversations would start out fine and friendly and professional, but he wanted John to be interested in him. The problem was that Sherlock just didn’t know what to _say._ In theory, he knew how to flirt, but John usually said something that would catch him off guard before he could even think about smooth-talking.

Take last week, for example.

 Sherlock was finished grading papers and had a couple free periods before his next class. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling of his classroom. He was in the mood to conduct an experiment, but he doubted he could bring in the jar of eyeballs he had back at the flat. He heard a knock on his door. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened to reveal John with a book in his hand. “Hello,” John smiled. “Um, I was just reading this,” he held up the book in his hand, which was some text on Anatomy, “and I know this isn’t your subject, but this seems wrong to me,” he opened up to a bookmarked page and pointed to a section of the paper. “Would you be able to tell me?”

“Certainly,” Sherlock said, getting up from his chair and walking to stand next to John. This was good; he had a chance to show off his intelligence. This was very good, in fact. Sherlock skimmed through the section and confirmed John’s suspicions. “Utterly ridiculous that a published text should have such a simple mistake,” Sherlock said, smirking slightly because he was able to boast in front of John. He was at the top of his game. He felt confident enough to make a subtle move.

“I knew I could ask you,” John smiled brighter. “They were right about you.”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “Who was right?”

“Everyone I’ve talked to, practically--that you’re some kind of genius. It’s kind of incredible, really,” his eyes shone with admiration.

Sherlock felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t expected that. He would have searched for an appropriate response in his Mind Palace, but he couldn’t form a thought at the moment. It wasn’t fair, he was supposed to be in control!

John looked at him curiously. “You okay?”

“Mind Palace failing,” Sherlock blurted out.

John gave him a wry smile. “ ‘Mind Palace’?”

The bell marking the end of the period rang, jarring Sherlock and throwing him back into reality.

John closed the book. “I’ve got a class now. Thanks again for your help, Mr. Holmes.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sherlock waved a hand.

“And good luck with your, uh, Mind Palace. You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Wait, Sherlock had said that out loud? Before he could ask, John was out of the room. Sherlock kicked a nearby desk. Damn.

Currently, John was chatting with some teacher--was she a history teacher? Maths?--smiling brightly, the sunlight coming in from the windows highlighting his hair. He saw John’s features scrunch up in a sudden laugh, though the rest of the chatter in the room drowned out the sound of it. Sherlock felt a sudden urge to throw the other teacher out of a window.

“Mr. Holmes!”

Sherlock’s attention snapped back to...Oh. It was his boss. Great.

“Mr. Holmes, did you listen to a word I said?” Lestrade crossed his arms.

“Of course,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Then what was I just talking to you about?”

“You were asking me if I’ve finished creating the mock exam for my class to which the answer is: yes, I have.”

Lestrade sighed. “Lucky guess. I know when you’re not listening to me, you get that look on your face.”

“What look?” Sherlock asked, looking past Lestrade and discovering that John was alone in the room. Now was his chance to speak with him.

“That look right there,” Lestrade said.

“Why are you in the teacher’s lounge? Don’t you have more important things to do?” It wasn’t wise to talk to his boss that way, especially since that exact behavior got him fired a couple times, but it was Lestrade. Sherlock knew what he could get away with.

Sure enough, Lestrade just groaned. “Jesus, you’re lucky you’re a good teacher or else I’d have you out of here.”

Sherlock smirked and took a sip from his coffee cup. “Good day, sir.”

Lestrade clearly suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and walked away, muttering to himself.

Sherlock looked back to John. He was still alone. Perfect.

Sherlock put down his coffee cup on a nearby table (the cleaning staff would get to it eventually) and started walking over to John and...and… What was he going to say? He couldn’t do small talk. It was impossible for his brain to process it, and it would just come off as fake. He could comment on how the shade of John’s blue jumper went well with his eyes. That’s the type of thing that flatters people, talking about their eyes. Would it come off as unprofessional? _Think, Sherlock, think!_

“Hello, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply and his eyes widened. He was standing right in front of John. With no idea what he wanted to say. When did that happen?

John raised an eyebrow. “Er, hello? You in there?”

“Yes, yes, sorry, my mind was somewhere else.” He flashed John a smile he suspected was scary as opposed to reassuring and charming.

John nodded, looking skeptical. “Okay, then. Did you want to talk to me?”

 _Yes. Let’s have dinner sometime._ “No, no, I was just walking in this general direction.” Sherlock kicked himself internally. That didn’t resemble what he wanted to say at all.

“You stopped directly in front of me.”

Sherlock’s fake smile widened even more and became painful. Curse John for being mildly intelligent. “Indeed.” His smile faded slightly and became a little more genuine when his mind found a topic of discussion. “So, how did your students do on that test you were telling me about a couple days ago?”

John rolled his eyes. “The ones who whined that they were going to fail did fail. They blamed me, of course.”

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded, “they never take responsibility, do they?”

“Never, as if it’s my fault they sit there texting instead of listening. And then you get the angry phone call from a parent,” John shook his head.

“You got an angry parent?” Sherlock snorted.

“Oh, yeah, some mother blaming me for her poor little Charlie’s failure. Meanwhile, that kid does nothing but hide his phone under his desk.”

“I just kick those idiots out,” Sherlock said.

John laughed, “You can’t just call them idiots.”

Sherlock looked around, but realized that the other teachers were gone. “No one heard me and it’s true.”

“Yes, yes, but you still have to be careful,”  John insisted, letting out another laugh. “Well, whatever. I'll be done with them for a while."

“Your students?”

“Yeah, because Ms. Hooper is taking over.”

Ah, yes, the student teacher who stared at Sherlock whenever she was around him. “When will she start teaching?”

“Next week. That gives me six weeks to sit back and let her deal with them. I’ll just have to grade papers and step in if Ms. Hooper has any trouble.”

“She needs a public speaking class,” Sherlock muttered.

John snorted. “Don’t be that way, she’s a nice girl.”

“She is, but that doesn’t change the fact that she can’t speak well in front of a crowd.”

“Well, that’s what student teaching is for, isn’t it?”

Sherlock just hummed and a comfortable silence descended upon them. Now would be a good time to change the direction of their conversation. Sherlock thought about what he should say. Should he go with the thing about the jumper and the eyes? Or should he mention John’s new haircut? Yes, that seemed safe.

“Did you get a haircut recently?”

“Oh, yes, I did,” John ran his hand through his short, blond hair.

“Looks nice,” Sherlock said simply. Coming from a coworker, it was a comment that could be interpreted as friendly, flirty, or creepy. Sherlock just hoped it wouldn’t be the last option.

John looked momentarily surprised, but grinned. “Really? Thanks.” He looked at Sherlock’s hair. “When’s the last time yours has been cut?”

Sherlock thought about it. “Last year. Maybe. Don’t know. It’s not on my list of priorities.” Was John asking because he thought Sherlock should get it cut?

“Well, that’s good.”

“Good?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Long hair suits you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” John’s eyes scanned over his curls. “Not many people can pull off that look.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to make of that. “Thank you,” he said, eyebrows furrowing. Was John just being polite and returning the compliment Sherlock had given him, or did he really think that? Sherlock’s eyes darted to take in all of John’s features, but it seemed like a genuine compliment.

Oh. Excellent.

“Excuse me, Mr. Watson?” The men turned and saw Ms. Hooper, John’s student teacher, standing in the doorway. Sherlock scowled. She completely ruined the flow of their conversation!

“Yes, Ms. Hooper?” John gave her his attention.

“Will you look over my lesson plan?” she asked, her hands folded and her thumbs twiddling.

“Absolutely,” John smiled and began walking out of the room.

No, no, no! It was going so well!

“Thank you! Hello, Mr. Holmes,” she smiled nervously at him.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He shouldn’t snap at her in front of John. “Hello, Ms. Hooper.”

“Well, duty calls. See you later, Mr. Holmes,” John said as he walked out of the room.

“Goodbye, Mr. Watson,” Sherlock said, cringing at the formality of it all. Once alone in the room, Sherlock groaned loudly. Not only did he have to successfully flatter John, but he actually had to find a way to get John alone with him for a long period of time.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have no idea how long this will be, but I like writing it!


	2. The List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decided to make a list to guide him on his quest to woo John. Nope. Not ridiculous at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I had massive writer's block for this chapter. I don't know why. I want to get right into their relationship, but I don't want to rush it, either.  
> Anyway, thank you to everyone who left kudos! I didn't expect the first chapter to get so many! :D  
> I'm finishing school in a couple days, so I should be able to post with more frequency (unless writer's block decides to show up again).

Sherlock sighed with relief when the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. “Ah, good. Get out of my room.”

His students laughed. “Bye, Mr. Holmes!” a few of them waved as they passed him to walk out of the room. Sherlock held back as smirk. It seemed that his students found his brutal honesty funny. Whether that was because they thought he was kidding or they had a twisted sense of humor, he didn’t know. It surprised him at first, then annoyed him, but now it just amused him, as well. Strange teenagers. But, they were more enjoyable to work with than children. Children didn’t annoy him individually, but they were monstrous in groups.

Once everyone left, he shut the door and sat down at his desk, opening up a drawer and pulling out a piece of paper. On the paper was a list of tactics he could use to win over John.

His landlady had laughed at him when she saw him making the list. “Sherlock, dear, it really isn’t that complicated!” Mrs. Hudson wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “You’re over-thinking it.”

“Don’t you have biscuits to make?” he muttered in embarrassment. The last thing he wanted to do was ask his landlady for flirting advice, even though he trusted her. It was none of her business.

“Where did you get these ideas, from a silly magazine?”

Sherlock had scowled. Stupid woman. He refused to acknowledge her for the rest of the day.

Now that he was alone, he felt safe to read over the list:

1\. Impress him

This was the easiest one of all; Sherlock already impressed John with his intelligence and could surely do it again. He rather enjoyed showing off a bit, too.

2\. Compliment his appearance

Sherlock had done that already, but he should probably do it again. Making a subtle comment about John’s hair wouldn’t be enough, though he seemed to like it. People like to be complimented repeatedly, but Sherlock should probably comment on a different feature next time. Sherlock liked how short John was (he found it rather endearing), although Sherlock thought that might have been an insecurity of John’s, so he shouldn’t mention that. Yet. Maybe he’ll go for the eyes. If complimenting John made him happy, then he’d be glad to do it again. Plus, Sherlock got a compliment in return, which was pleasantly unexpected.

3\. Compliment an aspect of his personality

Sherlock hadn’t done this yet, but John was kind and funny and mildly intelligent. It should be easy enough to say that. No problem.

4\. Be within close proximity of each other

This was another thing Sherlock hadn’t really done yet. He needed to make John feel the heat of his body, make him shiver. Sherlock frowned. This was the part he was the most uncertain about. How could he do this without being obvious or unprofessional? He was still unsure that John would welcome his advances, so he had to proceed carefully. It would be humiliating if John rejected him, and even more so if other teachers found out…

Sherlock shook his head. No need to think about that. Maybe Sherlock could casually brush his shoulder. Or something. Whatever. Flirting wasn’t exactly natural for him, but he had broken it down to a science. If he kept these things in mind, he may be able to succeed. It couldn’t be _that_ hard to charm a man.

5\. Get him alone

This was crucial to the development of their relationship, because they could share no intimacy with others around. Sherlock still wasn’t sure how to convince John to be alone with him for a long period of time. Perhaps he would have to wait a little for that one. He could work on the other things on the list in the meantime.

Sherlock put the paper back in the drawer. How should he start this? He looked at the clock. Would John be in the teacher’s lounge now? Would anyone else be in there? If there were other teachers in there, Sherlock could just lock eyes with John, stare at him, perhaps run his eyes up and down John, and leave. That sounded good: make John aware of his presence, make his interest known, and then leave without a word. Being mysterious was supposed to be sexy, right? He could be mysterious.

He decided to go for it.

Sherlock walked out of his classroom and stopped in his tracks. He saw John walking to the teacher’s lounge. Sherlock walked behind him slowly, trying to make sure his footsteps were as quiet as possible. He couldn’t let John know he was following him; even Sherlock knew that was creepy.

Once John was in the lounge, Sherlock waited a moment before entering. He opened the door by a fraction and poked his head inside. He found that John was the only one in the room, standing by the coffee machine.

John turned his head and looked at him with a grin. “Hello, Mr. Holmes. Coming in?”

There goes being mysterious. For now. Sherlock opened the door fully, feeling silly for getting caught peeking. “Good afternoon, Mr. Watson.” That was too formal. Damn.

“I’m making coffee, want some?”

“Sure, thank you.”

Silence fell upon them as John got went into the cupboard and got another mug. Sherlock was getting frustrated. He didn’t know what to talk about and was wasting his precious alone time with John.

“Did you finish making your mock exam?” John asked him as they waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

“Yes, I finished a couple days ago. It has seventy multiple choice questions and five short answer questions.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“It was originally one-hundred questions,” Sherlock said.

John bit his lip, stifling a chuckle. “I’m sure the kids will be thrilled about that. Have you told them yet?”

“I told them last week. They protested for a day and got over it.”

This time, John did laugh. “You’re a cruel one, aren’t you?”

“If they have paid attention, they should be fine,” Sherlock crossed his arms defensively. “I have to make sure they have suitable knowledge on all topics covered.”

“I suppose so, but I don’t think I’d be able to do well on an exam that long when I was in high school. I still don’t think I’d be able to pass your exam, actually”

Maybe Sherlock could use this as an opportunity to compliment him. “I’m sure you would do fine,” he said, waving his hand and looking away in feigned nonchalance. “They must have given you a degree for a reason.”

John’s eyes lit up at that and he hummed, pleased. Success.

“I can’t imagine what you were like in high school,” John said. “You must have been like Einstein among your peers.”

Sherlock held back a smile. Another compliment. “I was interested in chemistry, not theoretical physics.”

“I didn’t mean literally,” John rolled his eyes.

“Oh.” Of course. It was a joke. Right. He should have known that.

John didn’t seem put off by his error, though. “You were always interested in science, then?”

“Yes, since I was a child. I’d use the school’s lab after school to experiment.”

“With permission?”

“No.” John snorted. “Of course not. Don’t you experiment in your classroom sometimes?”

“When I have nothing else to do and the day isn’t over yet, yes.”

“What kind of experiments do you conduct?”

Sherlock blinked. John seemed genuinely interested. He wasn’t used to this. “It depends on what mood I’m in. I tend to blow things up when I’m bored, although that’s usually at home.”

“Isn’t it a hassle to clean up?”

“I usually leave that to the landlady.”

John nodded, clearly amused. “You must be a stellar tenant.”

Sherlock smirked. “Absolutely. What about you? Were you interested in science in school?”

“Pretty much, although I cared a lot more about rugby than any of my classes.”

An image of John in a rugby uniform, sweaty and disheveled, appeared in Sherlock’s mind. _Now is not the time!_ he scolded his brain. He should stop this line of conversation right now. “Do you still play?” he found himself asking. Stupid brain.

“Occasionally, yeah, with my mates.” That did nothing to dissolve Sherlock’s fantasy.

The coffee machine buzzed. “Coffee’s done,” John said and turned his attention to the machine.

Sherlock nodded, staring at John’s muscular form while his back was turned. What did he look like while playing? Was his shirt tight against his broad chest and biceps? John dressed in layers, but Sherlock could tell he was hiding an impressive physique. God, he’d love to see John in a vest…

Sherlock shook his head violently. _Stop it._ He needed to think about something else, like how much longer he had with John. That was a safe topic. They’d been in the room for a minute and thirty-two seconds. Someone could walk in at any moment. All he could do in this room, then, was develop the emotional aspect of their relationship--the whole becoming friends bit. That was fine for now, especially since they were getting along fairly well. If he were to try progress the physical aspect of their relationship now, it would probably scare John away. He read that the best relationships are based on friendship, anyway.

He realized that John was holding out a mug to him. Sherlock held out his hand to take it and John gave it to him. It would not have been a noteworthy event, except for the fact that John’s fingers brushed over his. Even that wasn’t completely interesting, but it was the _way_ John did it. John’s fingers touched his when he handed Sherlock the mug, but then, John’s fingers ran down the rest of Sherlock’s hand to his wrist, his touch light and ticking slightly.

It went by so quickly that Sherlock wasn’t sure whether or not it was intentional. Stuff like that just happens, it could mean nothing. Or it could mean something. When Sherlock looked back up at John’s face, he was staring out the window and drinking from his mug. If John was trying to play it cool, he was doing a wonderful job. But, Sherlock saw John swallow and his fingers gave the smallest twitch around the handle of the mug. Perhaps John wasn’t as aloof as he appeared.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said and drank from the mug.

“Don’t mention it,” John said, still looking out the window.

The door opened and the attractive, female Maths teacher stepped in. “Hello, there,” she smiled at them.

“Hey,” John smiled.

“Hello,” Sherlock nearly growled. Damn. There goes his alone time with John for the day. Let’s see, what was accomplished today: he and John talked a bit, he gave a compliment and received one in return, and John not-so-casually brushed his hand. It could have been better, but he’ll take it. Sherlock emptied out the rest of his coffee in the sink and left the mug in there.

“I’ll just be leaving,” he smiled at them and walked out of the room, grimacing once he was out of their sight.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Sherlock turned around, shocked to see John following him. “I was just going to conduct an experiment,” Sherlock said. It wasn’t true, but it was better than saying, _“Well, I can’t make a move with other people in the room, so I decided to leave.”_

“Can I watch?”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “You’re interested?”

“Yeah,” John cleared his throat, looking less certain now. “Is...that okay? I just figured because I don’t have a class next period, and it’s almost the end of the day and all, so...Do you not like to be disturbed while working?”

“No, no, it’s...fine.”

John smiled, his uncertainty disappearing. “Good.”

Sherlock could have jumped for joy. John was going to be alone in the classroom with him! Now he had to think of an experiment to do, but he could do that in his sleep. This could give him another chance to impress John.

Or, it could go horribly wrong, which was exactly what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sherlock tries so hard when he really doesn't need to. The idiot.  
> Tell me what you think! :)


	3. Injuries and Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to impress John with a simple experiment, but his own carelessness leads to John getting angry. However, it wasn't a total waste...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! I'm surprised I got this many kudos with only two chapters uploaded. Again, thank you :)  
> Okay, so this chapter features some science-y stuff. I am, by no means, a science person. I Googled the experiment in this chapter, so if there are inaccuracies, please forgive me. No one reads fan fiction for scientific accuracy, anyway! :P

To say that the whole incident with the experiment was a disaster wasn’t entirely true. Sure, it made Sherlock look like an idiot and resulted in physical pain, but it was kind of worth it. Sherlock walked to his classroom with John and shut the door behind them. When John raised his eyebrow at this, Sherlock quickly explained, “Lestrade doesn’t like me doing experiments unrelated to the classroom.”

John accepted this with a nod. “Is he afraid you’ll burn down the school?”

“I think so,” Sherlock said honestly, but John seemed to think it was a joke. Best to keep it that way.

“What are you going to do?” John asked. “I never paid much attention in Chemistry class,” he said, looking slightly sheepish, “it just didn’t interest me then. So, you could basically do anything and I’d be impressed.”

Well then, this would be easy. He could just mix some chemicals together and create a spark, but that was amateur, something he left to impress his students. Sherlock smiled. “I feel like messing around with reactions today. I have something in mind. The element has an interesting reaction in water.”

“What element?”

“You’ll see,” Sherlock winked.

He gave John goggles, “Put these on.”

“Is this going to explode?” John asked with a grin.

Sherlock said nothing.

John’s grin faded, “Wait, really?”

“No need to worry,” Sherlock put the goggles over his eyes and he heard a snort from John. “What?”

“Your hair.” Sherlock pulled out his phone and looked at himself in the reflection of the screen. The curls that were normally hanging down on his forehead were sticking up. Sherlock scowled and pushed them back down. “What a nuisance,” he muttered. He looked over at John. “You may want to stand back for this.”

John took a few steps back from the table with the glass container.

“Farther,” Sherlock warned.

John looked a little worried. “Is this safe?”

Sherlock couldn’t stop his lips from curling up deviously. “If you keep your distance, yes.”

John looked wary, but did as he was told and stepped back a few more feet.

Sherlock got a large glass container and filled it with water from the sink in the back room where he kept all of his chemicals and elements (some illegal, but he shouldn’t tell John that yet). He put the container on a desk out where John was and went back to the room to get a bit of cesium with tongs. He went back to John, feeling excited for no good reason.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” John said.

“What look?”

“That one,” John pointed at his face. “You look like a mad scientist.”

“I take it as a compliment,” Sherlock said.

“Seriously, Holmes, should you be doing this?”

“Please, I’ve done this in my flat.” He remembered Mrs. Hudson’s reaction. Poor woman...Oh well. He bought her some biscuits to make up for it and washed his own dishes for a week.

“This is really quite simple,” Sherlock told John. “As I said earlier, we’ll just be observing the reaction this element has in water.”

“What element is it?”

Sherlock stood back from the container and stretched his arm out, so the tongs in his hand were hovering over the water. “Cesium.” He dropped the cesium into the water, and it reacted exactly as Sherlock thought it would. The front of the container burst, water spilling onto the floor and glass flying out.

He heard John exclaim, “wow!”, but Sherlock was a bit distracted by a sharp pain in his palm. He looked down and realized that glass from the small explosion had lodged itself into his skin. There were two big pieces close together stuck at the center of his palm, and three smaller pieces, two in his thumb and the other in his middle finger.

“Oh, damn,” he said under his breath, grimacing.

“Is something wrong?” John asked, walking towards him. He stopped for a second, eyes widening, before running over to Sherlock. “Jesus, are you hurt?!”

Sherlock tried to flex his fingers and groaned when the pain increased. “It seems that I wasn’t at a safe distance,” he hissed through his teeth.

John scowled. “Why weren’t you wearing gloves?!”

“I didn’t think it was necessary!” Blood started to come out of his hand. _Ouch._

John saw the blood and sighed. “I’ll yell at you later. You have tweezers in here?”

“The drawer to the left at my desk,” Sherlock said. He bit his lip stop a grunt from escaping. It wasn’t the worst pain he ever felt, but it was far from pleasant. The glass didn’t feel like it was too far deep in his hand, though.

John came back to him a few seconds later, tweezers in hand, looking furious. “Hold out your hand,” he ordered.

Sherlock did, surprised by John’s tone.

“I don’t know why that big brain of yours couldn’t find the common sense to put on some bloody gloves,” John grumbled, squeezing the tweezers around one of the biggest pieces of glass. “This might hurt.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Sherlock sniffed, trying not to let his blunder get to him. He winced when John pulled out the piece of glass, but it only pinched for a couple seconds.

“Oh yeah, clearly,” John grumbled, pulling out the other big piece as gently as he could and putting the discarded pieces on a nearby desk.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock said. He imagined receiving John’s close attention on his body before, but none of his fantasies resembled this. It was completely unromantic.

“Mmm, ‘cause glass sticking out of your body is ‘fine’. And the mess of water and glass on the floor is ‘fine’, too, is it? Stop being a child,” John started to work on the smaller pieces.

Sherlock swallowed, feeling like an imbecile. If he had just put on the stupid gloves, he would still look blindingly intelligent. He still _was_ intelligent, and he wasn’t about to let John make him feel otherwise. “Everything was under control,” he insisted.

“Bullshit,” John growled and looked up, his eyes fierce. “What...oh god, your face was grazed. Fantastic.”

Sherlock brought his uninjured hand up to his face and felt around, stopping when he felt something wet on his left cheek. He pulled his hand away and saw a little blood on his fingertips. Now that John mentioned it, that spot did sting a little. “Just a scratch. Not a big deal.”

John looked like he wanted to hit him. “What if you hadn’t been wearing goggles, hm?”

“But I was,” Sherlock said.

John took out the last of the glass and slammed the tweezers down on the desk with a clang. “Go run your hand under hot water. Now.”

“You’re not my mother,” Sherlock said stubbornly, flexing his hand and feeling less pain than before. In the back of his mind, he recognized that this was not the way to woo John, but he was too annoyed to care at the moment.

“Sherlock, I swear to god, get your hand under some hot water or I’ll do it myself,” John said dangerously.

Sherlock inhaled sharply. John said his first name. Even though it was dripping with anger, Sherlock loved the way John said it. Considering it a small victory, he decide to obey John. He went to the sink in the back room and ran his hand under hot water, watching the blood wash away down the drain. He heard John enter the room.

John was irritated, but the anger was gone. “Look,” John said, taking off his goggles and running his hand through his short hair, “I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you, of all people, should know that this shit can be dangerous. Why weren’t you more careful?”

Sherlock turned off the sink, dried his hand on a paper towel, and took off his goggles, too. “I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he said. _I was distracted by your presence._

“Just be more careful.” John frowned. “Hold on, your cheek is still bleeding.”

“It is?” The wound didn’t hurt anymore.

John got a paper towel and dampened it, leaning up and pressing it to Sherlock’s cheek. The dampened paper towel was warm on his skin, and Sherlock found himself dangerously close to John’s face. John was standing on his toes (completely endearing) to reach Sherlock’s face and he was close. Too close. Sherlock stared down at his feet. He couldn’t look at John’s face this close. His handsome face and adorably turned up nose that would be so easy to plant a little kiss on…

This wasn’t good. Sherlock felt his face getting warm...Was he blushing? Did blushing feel like this? Maybe John didn’t notice. He looked back at Johns face and found John’s eyes staring into his. Not good.

John stepped down, putting some distance between them. He looked down at the paper towel, “I think it’s done bleeding. As for your hand, you should put some disinfectant on it when you go home.” John threw the paper towel in the waste bin and looked back at Sherlock, eyes scanning his face, and his lips quirked up in a tiny smile. “You okay?”

No, no, no, John was noticing! Wait, this was actually good! This was letting John know he was interested. Still, he shouldn’t appear flustered. “Absolutely fine.” His tone was confident. He silently thanked his voice for not betraying him.

“You sure? You look a bit red.”

John had to know what he was doing, right? Sherlock cleared his throat. “I’m sure.”

John reached out and touched Sherlock’s cheek with the back of his hand. “You feel a bit warm.”

John _had_ to know what he was doing. Sherlock wasn’t prepared for this. He was supposed to be the one leading the progression of their relationship. He needed to change the subject. Thanking John would probably work. “That thing you did--that was good.” Oh, yes, because that was specific. “Thank you.”

John’s little smile grew, drawing his hand back. “Well, I couldn’t just stand there and let you bleed.”

“You extracted the pieces well,” Sherlock told him.

John laughed. “That’s not something I hear every day. Thanks, I guess.”

John’s gentleness combined with his fiery concern made something dawn on Sherlock, and he nearly smacked himself. “Oh, how did I not see it before? It’s obvious.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“You. You wanted to be a doctor.” He was ashamed it took him this long to see it.

John’s lips parted in surprise. “I...How did you know that?”

“Your knowledge and interest in Anatomy, your gentle yet firm concern for my well-being; it wasn’t a difficult leap.”

John licked his lips. “Well, yeah. You’re right. That’s pretty good.”

Sherlock smiled proudly. He didn’t look like an idiot now. “Why did you become a teacher instead?”

“Didn’t have the money to pay through med school. I do genuinely like teaching, too. Teens, at least. I don’t think I’d have the patience to teach nine-year-olds.”

“Neither do I,” Sherlock shook his head.

John looked down at Sherlock’s hand. “Does it still hurt?”

“Slightly. It should heal quickly.”

“I agree. Just...like I said: be careful.”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time.”

John smacked his arm. “Watch it, Holmes.”

So, they weren’t on a first-name basis yet. That was disappointing.

They heard the door to the classroom open.

“What?!” a voice exclaimed.

“Who is that?” John whispered.

Sherlock knew that voice. “Anderson, the janitor,” he whispered back. “He must see the glass and water.”

“Damn it, Holmes!” Anderson yelled. “Constantly leaving me to clean up his messes,” he said to himself.

John put his hand over his mouth and started giggling.

“Shhh,” Sherlock held a finger to his lips, but he joined in.

“Holmes, are you still in here?” Anderson asked from the classroom.

“No, it’s another person in my classroom,” he replied, stepping out of the back room with John.

“What is this?” Anderson gestured to the water on the floor. “Is it going to poison me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Watson and I have teacherly duties to attend to.”

“Yeah,” John nodded. “We must be going.”

They walked briskly out of the classroom, ignoring Anderson’s protests, and didn’t stop walking until they were down the hall. Then, they looked at each other and started giggling once more, drawing the attention of students passing by.

“You’re ridiculous,” John said through his fading giggles, his anger from earlier completely gone.

Maybe the experiment was a success, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, please excuse the crappy science. I realized I had kind of written myself into a hole with the last chapter and couldn't avoid writing about an experiment.  
> I think they might kiss soon...I think. I don't know. I haven't started writing the next chapter.


	4. Pubs and Perverts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the failed experiment, Sherlock notices that his relationship with John slightly shifted. Then, John invites him out for drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say other than thanks for the kudos! I'm sorry for not getting this out sooner, but I had my other story to update and blah blah blah. Excuses.  
> I'm not too proud of this chapter, but hopefully you'll like it.

Over the next week, Sherlock noticed that his relationship with John had shifted. It was subtle and some might say he was analyzing too deeply, but something definitely changed. He could sense it. When they were in the teacher’s lounge, he felt John’s eyes on him. He tried not to acknowledge this, since most of the time there were other teachers around, but when he looked back at John, John would smile. It wasn’t an innocent, friendly smile. There seemed to be something lurking beneath it, a kind of heat that made Sherlock’s stomach do flips. Much to his irritation, they were never alone in the lounge when John did this, so he couldn’t give him bedroom eyes in response (was that an appropriate response? Did he even know how to do bedroom eyes?). Yesterday, Sherlock decided to wink at John, which earned him a surprised look and a little laugh. Sherlock considered it a small victory.

They talked more, too. Ever since the somewhat-failed experiment, John kept asking Sherlock about more experiments, although he didn’t let Sherlock perform any of them.

“Maybe wait a bit,” John said, “at least until the bandage comes off your hand.”

“I know how to perform experiments,” Sherlock grumbled and folded his hands behind his back.

“Not without hurting yourself, apparently.”

“It was a fluke--”

“We’re not having this argument again,” John said firmly, and strangely, Sherlock listened.

“Fine. I’ll just perform experiments at home where you’re not there to pester me.” John rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t blow yourself up. Or your patient landlady.” So, no experiments for now until John stopped being unreasonable, but talking about them and showing off verbally was good enough at the moment.

Two days ago, while Sherlock was explaining something, a student came in to turn in late homework. (He only accepted late assignments until the end of the day; it wasn’t his fault his students failed to do their work on time.)

The student (he forgot her name) pointed at his bandaged hand. “Hey, Mr. Holmes, how’d you do that?”

John snickered and Sherlock scowled. “It’s rude to ask your teacher personal questions. Leave,” he waved his hand dismissively, shooing her.

The teen just shrugged and walked out of the room.

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at John as he continued to laugh. “How would the kids react if they knew their teacher injured himself by failing to follow a simple safety procedure?” John giggled.

“We’re done talking about it,” Sherlock said.

John nudged his shoulder. “Lighten up, I’m just teasing.”

Physical contact, excellent. Sherlock was making progress on his list. He’s impressed John, complimented his appearance, gotten close to him and gotten him alone. He would have to keep all of this up, of course, but he felt pretty confident that their relationship would move into the romantic and/or sexual territory within the next two months.

At the present, Sherlock’s last class just let out and he was sitting at his desk, chin resting on his folded hands. He was thinking about whether or not he should just go home or try to talk to John when his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and froze when he saw the caller I.D. He growled and swiped the screen to answer. “What, Mycroft?”

“My, it’s nice to talk to you, too,” he replied coolly.

“We both know you only call with a purpose,” he got up and started to pace around his classroom. “What do you want?”

“I’m just checking in on you. I haven’t heard from you in a while--”

“And it was just fine that way, thank you.”

A slight pause on the other end, indicating Mycroft’s fading patience. “I am simply concerned that you are letting your emotions interfere with your judgement.”

Sherlock stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”

“I am concerned,” Mycroft repeated. “That’s all.”

“No, you know something,” Sherlock’s hand clenched into a fist. “Are you spying on me again?” His eyes darted around the classroom.

“I haven’t bugged your classroom, if that’s what you’re asking,” he read Sherlock’s thoughts. “Perhaps you should reconsider your pursuit of that Anatomy teacher fellow?”

“I’ll do what I please,” Sherlock said viciously.

“You can get yourself hurt--”

“And it shall be none of your bloody business,” he snapped.

“Calm down, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “You do become so testy sometimes.”

“I don’t know how you found out and I don’t care,” Sherlock said lowly. “I understand the risks of this situation.”

“Do you know for sure that’s he’s interested in men?”

Sherlock’s stopped breathing. He hadn’t thought of that. “Don’t call me again.” He ended the call. Sherlock was so angry he nearly threw his phone at the wall. “The insufferable bastard!” he shouted.

“You okay?”

Sherlock spun around to see John by the doorway. “How long have you been there?” And how did he not notice?

“A few moments. You’re lucky it wasn’t Lestrade why caught you swearing like that. Who was on the phone?”

“My brother,” Sherlock scowled at his phone and put it in his pocket before he broke it.

“Don’t get along much?”

“He’s constantly putting his large, fat nose in my business, ever since we were children.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never really gotten along with my older sister.”

“Older siblings,” Sherlock grumbled and sat on top of his desk, pulling his knees close.

“Yeah,” John shook his head and walked to him. “They’re a real pain.”

Sherlock was having a crisis in his mind. He really hadn’t considered the possibility that John could be straight. Looking John over, Sherlock didn’t think he was, but...Sherlock shook his head. Stupid Mycroft for making him doubt himself. He can’t let the fat git get to him.

“Um, you okay?”

“Fine, why?”

“You just shook your head and look pretty angry.”

“Mind Palace,” he lied.

“You still have to explain what that is.”

“Later,” he said.

“All right. Anyway, I came here to ask you something?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long week, at least for me, and I was going to go to the pub after school. Want to come along?”

Sherlock’s heart stopped. John was inviting him somewhere outside of work. There would be alcohol involved. Things could happen.

“It’s Friday,” John said after a few beats of silence. “We don’t have work to worry about tomorrow. There’s a pub a few blocks from here.” John frowned. “Or,” he cleared his throat, “you don’t have to come with me. I was just offering.”

“No, I want to,” Sherlock said. Truthfully, Sherlock avoided drinking because it made his thought process ridiculously slow, but he wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t pass up an opportunity to interact with a drunken John Watson. 

John smiled. "Good. It'll be nice to get away from everyone, won't it?"

Sherlock smiled. "Precisely." 

* * *

 

The pub was loud, but it didn’t bother Sherlock so much. Why was that? Was he drunk? He felt a bit drunk. He was sitting in a booth with John across from him, giggling about something he already couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember. He felt light and happy. And he was with John. That was happy-inducing. (Happy-inducing?)

John folded his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his hand, looking at Sherlock with sparkling, dazed eyes.“I like you like this, Sherlock, all laughing and stuff. You should laugh more often. Can I call you Sherlock?”

_YES!_ “Certainly...John.” It felt so good to say John’s name after months of knowing each other. It felt good to hear John say his name, too. What would it be like to hear John moan his name? Can’t think of that now.

John made a please humming sound in his throat. “It’s a nice name. Unusual. I like it. I hate being all stuffy and formal, having to use surnames” he said. “‘S dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Don’t ya think, Sherlock?”

“It is, indeed, John, dumb, dumb, dumb,” Sherlock giggled. That was a fun word to say. Dumb.

“That,” John pointed at him. “The laughing. Why don’t you do it more? ‘S nice. Your voice is deep like...I don't know, but it's nice.”

“No reason to laugh at work,” Sherlock said. “They’re all idiots.”

“They are. You’re smarter than the whole school, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Sherlock downed the last of his gin. “I’m smarter than the whoooole city.”

“I don’t doubt it. Why don’t ya teach at a university?”

“Adults are more tedious than teenagers,” he said, faintly noticing he slurred the word “tedious”.

“I don’t believe that,” John said.

“Stupid adults annoy me more than stupid kids. Kids often change.”

“That’s true. You don’t seem like the type to like kids.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t dislike them.” He downed the last of his gin. “You like them?”

“Nah,” John shook his head. “Not little kids. Too messy.” He looked at Sherlock’s empty glass. “I’m going to get us more drinks,” he said and got up, stumbling a bit and leaning on the table for support. “Be right back.”

“M’kay,” Sherlock said, feeling a little tired. He didn’t drink often because it slowed his thought process considerably, but he had nothing to do right now but enjoy it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up with a grin on his face, only to frown immediately.

It wasn’t John.

“Hello, handsome,” the man smiled. He was tall and muscled, his head shaved with a beard. There was a term for that, wasn’t there? Redneck beard. Yeah, redneck.

“I’m not a redneck,” the man said angrily.

That was out loud. Oops. “What do you want?” Sherlock stood up and threw the hand off his shoulder.

“You’re pretty cute, that’s all.”

Cute? Puppies were cute. A grown man was not (except for John). Sherlock told him such, “A grown man is not cute. I’m not interested.”

“Who pissed in your cereal? I’m just trying to be nice.”

Sherlock was about to tell him to piss off, but the breath rushed out of his lungs when he felt the man’s hand squeeze his arse. He suddenly felt sober.

The man grinned, revealing his yellow teeth.

“Get off _now,”_ Sherlock whispered fiercely.

“Playin’ hard to get?”

Sherlock hadn't been touched there since Uni, and he was not about to let some imbecile molest him. Sherlock punched him in the nose.

“What the fuck?!” the man brought his hands up to his face, looking horrified when blood coated his fingers. “You little fucking shit!”

“Oi!” John ran over to them and shoved the man by the chest, sending him flying back a couple feet. John put his arm around Sherlock’s waist. “You messin’ with my boyfriend?”

Sherlock's mind screeched to a halt. All of the blood rushed to his cheeks and his heart thumped so violently it almost hurt. Well, he wasn’t completely certain that John liked men, but he didn’t have a problem with playing gay to strangers. _Take that, Mycroft._  His eyes snapped to John.

John was shooting daggers at the man, looking dangerous and ready to snap. “Get the fuck out before I beat the shit out of you,” his grip tightened on Sherlock’s waist.

God, how Sherlock wished he could be called John’s boyfriend under different circumstances.

The man laughed, a trickle of blood dripping down his face. “I’m not afraid of a fucking midget!” He raised his fist, but John let go of Sherlock, caught the fist, and twisted the man’s arm. The man gave a shout and John punched him in the eye.

Sherlock was so shocked that he could hardly breathe.

“Come on,” John grabbed Sherlock’s hand. “Let’s get out of here before they call the cops.”

“Let’s run for it,” Sherlock agreed.

“My place,” John nodded.

They ran through the streets of London, aware of a mob of drunken friends of the pervert chasing them. As they ran, John and Sherlock caught each other’s eyes, and started to laugh hysterically. Sherlock hadn’t felt so alive since his childhood. The drunks stopped following them a few blocks ago, but they ran all the way to John’s flat.

John opened the door and locked it behind him, panting. “That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

Sherlock nodded, trying to catch his breath. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he remembered what John said to the man and flushed to his ear. He debated whether or not he should bring it up, but his tipsy brain decided for him.“What you said, what you pretended, I mean. Thank you.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” John cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t let that fucker harass you like that. Nice punch you gave him, by the way.”

“You, too. He deserved more than that.”

“Absolutely, but I didn’t feel like getting arrested tonight.” John breathed deeply, his panting subsiding.

John was gorgeous like this. The wind had rushed through his hair as they ran, causing it to stick up. Sherlock wanted to smooth it out. His eyes traveled down the length of John’s body to see that his jumper was riding up a little, revealing a trail of golden hair. Sherlock gulped.

John was staring at him, his eyes darkening.

Sherlock didn’t look away, the traces of alcohol still in his system sending heat throughout his body. "John?"

“We need more drinks,” John said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one touches our Sherly but John.  
> I don't think I'm going to keep our boys apart much longer...


	5. The Worst Morning Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up in John's bed the morning after they went out drinking, but something feels very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter has way more angst than I originally intended. Don't worry, friends; their dicks will touch soon enough.  
> There's some sad wanking in this chapter. I hope you enjoy ;)

Sherlock’s head bloody _hurt._ His skull throbbed with a wave of pain every three seconds, the pain pulsing behind his eyeballs. He groaned, but it turned out that hurt, too. His limbs felt heavy. God, what happened to him? He ran his tongue over his teeth. His teeth felt dirty and his mouth tasted like death. He must not have brushed his teeth before he went to bed. Something had to have distracted him from doing so.

Wait, he drank alcohol, didn’t he? Yes, yes, he did. Stupid idea, why did he do that? He mushed his face into his pillow. Only, it didn’t smell like his pillow. His pillow smelled like his shampoo. This smelled like a different kind of shampoo. He inhaled deeply, but didn’t recognize the scent.

His senses were sluggishly coming back to him. This is why he rarely drank; he turned into a common dolt. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. It was Saturday and there was no way his mind was fit for an experiment today. Sleep usually eluded him, but Sherlock felt that it would come easily right now. He sighed and decided to relax. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of even breaths coming from beside him. Soft, steady breaths…

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. _What?!_

The bedroom was small, dingy, and, most importantly, not his. Having his eyes open hurt his head more, but that wasn’t important. Where the hell was he? He slowly turned his head to see who was lying next to him and nearly jumped off the bed.

John was passed out (thankfully), lying on his side facing Sherlock, mouth open, sleeping deeply. Sherlock tore his eyes away from (beautiful) the sight. He needed to think. John invited him to go out drinking last night. That much was clear, and it was actually coming back to him. They were tipsy, having fun, some neanderthal grabbed his arse, John defended him and pretended to be his boyfriend (!), and then they ran back here. Yes, he remembered all of that clearly now. John wanted to drink more and, what did they do?

_Stupid brain, work!_

Sherlock felt a little cold and put his arms around himself, only to realize he was shirtless. Well, that made things considerably more confusing. He looked at John again. John was completely clothed, socks included. That means no sex. Most likely. Sherlock gulped. Did John get him off or something? No, he couldn’t have. Sherlock’s trousers were still intact, belt and zipper untouched. Plus, his pants didn’t feel crusty, so he couldn’t have ejaculated in them. The thought of coming in his pants in front of John sent a ripple of arousal down his spine. He couldn’t entertain it. Not with John in bed with him.

He needed to remember what happened after they got in. He closed his eyes, forcing a memory to surface.

_They had been sitting on the sofa, their knees brushing. They were full blown drunk at that point and were gossiping about their colleagues._

_“Lestrade needs to relax, y’know?” John had said, yawning and sinking into the cushions. “He always looks like he needs a holiday.” He snorted, “Or a good shag.”_

_Sherlock choked on his drink, “What?”_

_John cackled, “Kidding, Sherlock. Kidding. I don’t know about his sex life and I don’t want to.”_

_Sherlock relaxed. “Oh. But, you’re right. His wife is cheating on him.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“I know all,” Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows cartoonishly and they both laughed._

_“If that’s true, then that’s a shame,” John said, taking another sip from his glass. “Molly Hooper. She’s someone else who needs a good shag, poor girl.”_

_Sherlock thought of his brother’s warning about John’s sexuality. Was he interested in Molly? “Think so?”_

_“Mhm. And I know who she’d like to do it with,” John nodded at him with a smile._

_Sherlock squinted at John. “What?”_

_“You, Sherlock! She’s into you.”_

Sherlock’s memory was getting blurry again, but he felt like that conversation went somewhere important. He shuddered at the thought of Molly fancying him. Not his area. Oh, that was it! He said that to John.

_“Girls aren’t my cup of tea,” he’d said._

_“Oh, really?” John asked huskily._

Sherlock didn’t know if he actually remembered John’s voice being husky, or if he’d just made that up. He desperately tried to search his brain for what happened after that, but there was nothing. “Come on,” he smacked his temples. “Come on!”

John stirred beside him.

Sherlock froze.

John rolled onto his back, rubbed his eye with his knuckles, and rested his hand on his chest. His lips parted and he breathed steadily once more.

Sherlock exhaled slowly. That was close. He looked down at his bare chest. So, he’d told John that he was gay and that somehow ended up with him being shirtless. But, it didn’t end in sex. It couldn’t have. There would have been evidence. Did Sherlock take off the shirt himself? If he took his shirt off and they didn’t have sex, what happened?

The worst possible scenario crept into Sherlock’s mind, a sense of dread filling him. In his inebriated state, confessing his sexuality must have led to a clumsy  attempt to outright seduce John, hence him being shirtless. If John were interested in Sherlock, he would have reciprocated. But, as he previously observed, John had all of his clothes on. Did Sherlock make a fool of himself and John rejected him? Sherlock started to feel very cold. That had to have been it. He was so drunk that he completely ruined his careful plan to seduce John, acted impulsively, and resorted to desperate measures when John rejected him. If he were that drunk, then he must have passed out shortly after. That would explain why he couldn’t remember the rest of the night.

Then, John was too nice to leave Sherlock passed out on the floor, or wherever it happened, and dragged Sherlock to his bed. That sounded like a John-like thing to do.

It all made sense now. Sherlock’s throat felt tight. John probably pretended to be his boyfriend just to protect him. Nothing more, nothing less. He looked at John again. The image of John sleeping on his back was saved to his Mind Palace. After all, it’s not like he’d get another chance to see John like this.

Sherlock carefully got up from the bed, the ache in his head making him wobble. He found his shirt a couple feet away from the bed. He put it on and went out into the sitting room. He had to leave. John may have been too nice to kick him out last night, but Sherlock would do him a favor and let himself out before John woke up. He wasn’t in the mood for an awkward encounter. He found his coat and shoes by the front door next to John’s. Sherlock put them on, feeling disgusted when his lip started to quiver. He clenched his jaw.

He left John’s flat as quietly as possible, his headache truly agonizing now. He blew it. Things were going fine with John. He just had to let something so mundane as alcohol cloud his senses and let his feelings take over. Then again, John would have rejected him sooner or later. Sherlock just wished it hadn’t happened when he was drunk and vulnerable.

When he got home, he took off his coat and shoes and threw himself onto his bed. How would he be able to look John in the eye on Monday? They were co-workers. They couldn’t avoid each other forever. People would notice and start to talk. Sherlock turned on his side and stared at the wall. He wondered if John didn’t want him because he was a man, or if because he was _him._ Sherlock, an annoying, moody, know-it-all with facial features odd enough to be a Halloween mask. Why would someone like John want him?

John, who was considerate, caring, friendly, easily irritated in the most endearing way, and handsome. So, so handsome. So beautiful in sleep. Was that creepy? It didn’t matter. It’s not like Sherlock would have another opportunity to end up in bed with him. The one thing that was unclear was why John was in bed with him. He could have slept on the sofa. It was just a minor detail, though. Sherlock closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would get over John. Tomorrow for sure. Today, he wanted to feel sorry for himself and fantasize. He thought about what would have happened if John wanted him. What would John’s hand feel like on his bare chest?

Sherlock unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and slipped his hand inside. His long fingers circled his nipple and stroked it gently. Sherlock didn’t do this often, but he was upset, damn it, and he deserved some pleasure. His index finger rubbed his nipple and it started to tingle. That area had always been particularly sensitive. He rubbed it in a slow, circular motion and he began to harden. Sherlock used his other hand to unzip his trousers and cup himself. He sighed shakily as his nipple slowly peaked. He rolled the hard nub around with his thumb and imagined John doing this, licking it, nibbling it. Would John lick his nipples gently, or would he suck forcefully? Sherlock hardened further at the thought. Feeling hot, he took off his shirt and lied on his side, breathing heavily, his hands returning to his chest and cock.

Sherlock pressed his lips together and moaned quietly, palming his bulge and rubbing his nipple again. “Mmph!” he moaned into his pillow and put his hand in his pants, gripping his cock and giving it a couple tugs. His hand was a little dry, so he licked his palm and wrapped his hand around his dick again. He thought of John taking him in hand, smiling that delicious, heated smile, and swirling his thumb over the head, teasing Sherlock by licking his length and sitting up, refusing to put his mouth there again. Sherlock grunted and squeezed his cock, rocking his hips, fucking the tight circle created by his hand. The fact that he still had his trousers and pants on made it a little uncomfortable, but he was too into it now. He was even starting to leak at the tip.

What if John was behind him, biting his neck? What if he teased Sherlock’s nipples and got himself off between Sherlock’s thighs, groaning in his ear? Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, “Ugh!” He slapped a hand over his mouth. Mrs. Hudson was still home and the woman wasn’t deaf. He bit the side of his thumb, but he knew it wouldn’t do much good. He was groaning and grunting beyond his control. He felt heat crawling down his cheeks and spread over his chest. His balls were tightening as he thought of John spreading his legs, taking him, fucking him hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. He thought of John’s face, him breathing out of his open mouth and his eyes burning into Sherlock’s. Or, better yet, Sherlock thought of fucking John, being on top of him, John’s eyes closed and moaning. He thought of John’s legs wrapping around his waist and his hole clenching around him and he imagined that instead of thrusting into his hands he was thrusting into John and--!

Sherlock came with a muffled shout, spurting all over his hand and pants. His hips thrust in a frantic rhythm as he trembled and his climax consumed him, filling his eyes with stars.

He came down to earth a couple minutes later, grimacing at the mess he’d made. He took off his pants and trousers and left them on the floor. He would deal with it later. He cleaned himself up and brushed his teeth, the sour taste in his mouth getting on his nerves. He crawled into bed and pulled the duvet over him, closing his eyes. His heart unpleasantly felt heavy.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. “Sherlock, are you all right?” Mrs. Hudson called.

He was grateful that she hadn’t come in, or else she would have seen his soiled clothes. “Fine,” he said.

“You just got in a little while ago, right? It’s after 7:00!”

“I’m well aware,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Are you hungry? I could make you breakfast. Just this once because you got in so late, dear.”

He was hungry, actually. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. However, the thought of getting out of bed was unbearable. “I’ll pass, Mrs. Hudson, thank you.”

“If you’re sure,” she said.

Sherlock didn’t answer and closed his eyes once more. He would deal with his feelings for John later. He needed to sleep.

**  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that masturbation scene wasn't as awkward to read as it was to write.  
> These bastards are definitely going to get together soon, but they wouldn't be Sherlock and John if they didn't have misunderstandings along the way. :P


	6. The Unnecessary Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are high when Sherlock returns to work on Monday and sees John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say other than thanks for reading and keeping up with this garbage :D  
> Don't you just love it when our boys misunderstand and cause each other misery instead of actually fucking talking????? I do. It tends to be a theme in my stories.

On Monday, Sherlock went straight to his classroom and closed the door, not bothering to get a coffee from the teacher’s lounge. He was in no mood to teach. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. When his first class entered the room and settled, he sighed heavily and gathered the mental strength to speak.

“It’s Monday. None of you feel like learning today, not that any of you ever show interest in this class. Would you all like to watch a movie?”

His students cheered, although they did seem surprised. Sherlock never showed  movies in class because it wasted valuable time. He never put on science videos, either, because most of the time those “scientists” in the videos didn’t know what they were talking about.

Sherlock wondered if his students could sense that something was wrong. They had better observational skills than any of the faculty (besides himself, obviously). Sherlock had a student log into her Netflix account on his computer and let the students choose the movie, the computer screen projected on the board.

He did this with all of his classes that day. Sherlock just couldn’t be bothered to do anything else, although he did feel slightly better than he did over the weekend.

He had spent the rest of his Saturday in a sort of haze, part of it coming from having slept into the early afternoon after he got home and masturbated. He woke up with dried semen on his stomach and showered immediately. That was part of the reason why he didn’t pleasure himself too often; it was disgusting. He spent his Sunday trying to distract himself from the situation by watching some soap opera with Mrs. Hudson (yes, he was that desperate. Mycroft would have a field day if he found out).

Now that he was back at work, he was trying to avoid John.

They would have to see each other again sometime, but perhaps if Sherlock avoided him long enough, some of the awkwardness and Sherlock’s heartbreak would have faded. Sherlock scoffed at himself, ignoring the curious stares of a couple nearby students. Heartbreak. How dramatic. It wasn’t like he was in love with John. Granted, he wasn’t exactly sure what being in love felt like, but he knew it took time. He only knew John for a handful of months, and only had substantial conversations with him for a couple weeks or so. Perhaps the potential was there to fall in love with John, but it didn’t really matter now.

When his last class let out and Sherlock had a period to himself, he gathered his coat and bag and left. He didn’t know if John would try to talk to him then, but he preferred not to risk it.

Because the universe seemed to be against him, John was in the hallway when he left his classroom.

Damn.

Maybe he could sneak past John.

Sherlock took a few quiet steps towards the door at the end of the hall but John turned around, staring directly at him and swallowing. For a moment, Sherlock felt like a deer caught in headlights, his legs freezing. They stared at each other, the hallway empty and quiet. He couldn’t decipher John’s expression. He wasn’t disgusted as Sherlock expected him to be, nor did he look angry. There was something in John’s eyes and the set of his jaw that looked...hurt? The expression lasted for a split second before John’s face became as cool as stone.

That snapped Sherlock out of his trance. He realized that acting this way made him seem like a pathetic child. He couldn’t let John think he was upset about this. He forced a smile onto his lips. “Good day, Mr. Watson,” he said with a nod, the surname tasting like acid on his tongue, a reminder that his idiocy set their friendship two steps back.

John looked more uncomfortable now that Sherlock verbally acknowledged him. “Erm, good day, Mrs. Holmes.”

Sherlock’s forced smile widened and he didn’t miss how John grimaced. He probably wasn’t making the most handsome of faces, so the smile dropped from his lips.

John was looking at him.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something else, but he had nothing to say that wouldn’t make things worse. He closed his mouth stupidly.

“What?” John asked, a hint of urgency in his voice.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said, eyebrows furrowing. What did John expect him to do, acknowledge his blunder on Friday night? Absolutely not.“Have a nice day,” he turned on his heel and briskly walked out of the hall, not looking back at John, his chest feeling numb. Talking to John wasn’t pleasant, but if he appeared to be unfazed by what happened, then maybe things would go back to normal sooner.

Sherlock arrived home and regretted not assigning any work. He had nothing to occupy him now, and there was no way he could sit through another soap opera with Mrs. Hudson. He gripped the fabric if his shirt near his heart. How could his control over his emotions break entirely because of one man?

* * *

 To the disappointment of his students, Sherlock taught all of his classes the next day. He couldn’t let this get to him. He went into the teacher’s lounge during lunch for coffee. He noticed John talking to Ms. Hooper in his peripheral vision.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes,” Ms. Hooper called and smiled nervously, a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

_Oblivious girl._ Why did she have to bring attention towards him? Sherlock did feel a little sorry for her, though. It wasn’t her fault that she was attracted to him. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hooper,” he said, waiting for his coffee to brew, “Mr. Watson.”

“Afternoon,” John nodded curtly. He looked uncomfortable.

Ms. Hooper and John started talking again about some project that she was going to assign.

Sherlock got his coffee and sipped it, looking at John over the rim of his glass.

John didn’t seem too invested in the conversation and snuck a glance over at Sherlock. However, as soon as their eyes met, John’s eyes snapped away and he nodded at whatever Ms. Hooper was saying.  It was odd yesterday, how John seemed to be waiting for Sherlock to say something. Sherlock got the vibe that John wanted to talk to him, but unless John wanted to say that they could pretend Friday night never happened, Sherlock didn’t know what he wanted to talk about. As he found out yesterday, trying to talk just made things worse, anyway.

When he left the room, he felt John’s eyes on the back of his head.

At the end of the day while Sherlock was packing papers into his bag, there was a firm knock on his door. Before Sherlock could blink, John entered the room and shut the door behind him, mouth set in a deep frown.

Sherlock’s fingers paused briefly, but he closed his bag and tried to look neutral. “Hello, Mr. Watson.”

“Shut up,” John’s hands balled into fists.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“What is it with you, hm?” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking angrier than Sherlock had ever seen him. Well, almost. The only time he looked absolutely furious was when he defended Sherlock from that brute.

Sherlock felt uneasy. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said slowly.

John scoffed. “Seriously? Try and guess. Use that big fucking brain of yours and guess.”

It felt like someone was twisting a cold blade in Sherlock’s chest. Last time John was angry at him was mainly out of concern when Sherlock had gotten himself hurt. There wasn’t any concern now. John was just plain angry, but Sherlock didn’t know _why._ Sherlock swallowed, “You’re angry with me.”

“Unbelievable. That’s the best you can do?”

Sherlock didn’t like this. He felt very small and resented John for being able to do that to him. “John, would you please just _tell_ me what’s going on instead of yelling like a child?” Okay, that was definitely the wrong thing to say.

John scowled and stepped towards Sherlock before stopping himself abruptly, his shoes scuffing on the floor. “You bastard. I have every right to be angry with you.”

This conversation was really starting to get on Sherlock’s nerves. If anything, _he_ had the right to be angry with John for rejecting him. “Out with it, will you? I want to go home and you’re wasting my time.”

John actually _growled_ and shoved Sherlock against the chalkboard by his shoulders, staring up at him viciously.

Sherlock had the breath knocked out of him by sheer surprise and John’s strength. His hands flew up and gripped John’s elbows, pushing him away, but John was stronger than he was. He could probably get away if he really wanted to, but his curiosity kept him in place.

John breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm himself. He let go of Sherlock, but didn’t put any distance between them. “You leave my flat without a word before I wake up and then act like nothing happened? Why, Sherlock? You at least owe me a bloody explanation.”

Sherlock stood up straight, wiping chalk from the sleeve of his shirt and huffing an irritated breath. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

John squinted, his nose scrunching up in a way that would have been cute in a different circumstance. “Why would you think that?”

Was John trying to torture him? “Do I really need to say it?”

“Yes!” John threw his hands in the air exasperation.

“Shh, someone will hear you,” Sherlock whispered.

John shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sherlock,” his voice turned quiet. “Please, just tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. If you never want to talk to me again outside of work, fine. Just tell me why. I thought things were fine between us, but apparently I’m wrong.”

“‘Fine’?” Sherlock hissed. “How could you expect things to be ‘fine’?!”

“Sherlock,” John said sharply. “Just humor me, okay?”

Sherlock felt embarrassed and angry that John was making him say it, but he supposed it was inevitable. Might as well get it out of the way. He took a deep breath, “I thought it would be best to leave before you woke so you wouldn’t have to deal with me after my blunder the previous night.” His heartbeat was heavy in his chest, but he went on, “I appreciate you not kicking me out of your flat, but you’d already done enough for me. I haven’t mentioned any of it here because I thought that would make things easier.”

All of the anger and exasperation disappeared and was replaced with confusion. John’s eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth worked silently. Then, he finally got the words out, “You...Sherlock, I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

Sherlock felt an unpleasant shiver crawl down his spine. “What?”

“Sherlock, why do you think I wanted you to leave, or for you not to bring it up?” Then, his eyes widened slightly. “Wait, you actually remember what happened that night, right?”

Sherlock’s head hurt. None of this made any sense. “Only bits and pieces,” he admitted.

John sighed in what sounded like a mixture of relief and horror (was such a combination possible?) and his head fell in his hands. “Oh my god,” he mumbled into his palms.

“John?” Sherlock reached out, but brought his hand back to his side.

John lifted his head from his hands. “Sherlock, you’re such an idiot. I don’t know how the hell you came to the conclusion that I wanted you to leave. You woke up in my bed, for Christ’s sake!”

“I--” Sherlock’s voice went weirdly croaky, so he cleared his throat. “I thought you were being nice by giving me a place to sleep.”

John stared at him, mouth agape, stunned.

Sherlock folded his hands together and squeezed them, an unconscious, nervous gesture. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong.”

John nodded slowly.“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "You’re wrong. God, Sherlock,” he shook his head, “do seriously not remember anything we did?”

Sherlock’s heart started galloping. “What?”

John cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, you know, me kissing you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolololololololol I'm a cheesy author.


	7. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John explains what really went down that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one. I'm super pissed that my teacher posted summer work TWO WEEKS before school starts, instead of, you know, posting it at the beginning of summer. Ugh. So I'll be occupied with that. It shouldn't interfere with my writing TOO much.

For a minute, everything paused for Sherlock. He heard nothing, he didn’t register John’s presence, he stopped breathing, the air around him felt thin. His mind was completely, blissfully blank. The only thing he vaguely felt was his heart beating quickly. Then, all at once, Sherlock sucked in a large breath, blinked his burning eyes (how long had he been staring?), heard that John was calling his name, and he came back online. His eyes swept over John’s expression. John’s eyebrows were furrowed enough that two small wrinkles appeared, his lips were wet from licking them, and the look in his eyes was beyond worried.

That’s right; he hadn’t responded yet. Sherlock swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat and attempted to speak. “You,” he said weakly and swallowed again. “You...kissed me.” It wasn’t a question because Sherlock knew John wouldn’t lie to him. John’s current distress reinforced that.

John seemed to be torn between exasperation and anxiety. He settled for nodding curtly. “Yes, I did.” He sighed and shook his head, eyes downcast. “You don’t remember,” he said glumly.

John was sad. _He_ made John sad. Sherlock felt awful. He was the biggest moron in the world. In the entire galaxy. “I’m sorry,” he said sharply. Too sharply. He winced. “I didn’t mean--” No, John didn’t want pity. Better rephrase it. “I obviously came to the wrong conclusion.”

John tried to laugh, but only a small huff came out. “You’re getting it now.” His eyes met Sherlock’s again. “But, you genuinely don’t remember, right?”

“Correct. I apologize.”

“Not needed. It’s just, then, there’s a chance that you do still want that?”

Sherlock’s heart ached at John’s uncertainty. The pain his own foolish insecurities had caused! He needed to make John happy.  “Of course I do,” he said softly.

John’s lips parted into a beautiful smile and his eyes lit up the entire room.

Sherlock wanted to kiss him. But, his brain was nagging him for the truth of that night. “John, what happened on Friday?”

“We were sitting on the sofa and talking. We were both pretty far gone by that point. Long story short: you told me you were gay, and I leaned over and kissed you.” John’s cheeks turned pink ever so slightly. “We were, uh, snogging on the way to my room. I got you on the bed, took off your shirt, kissed your neck, and you passed out.”

Sherlock felt like he was going to burst into flames. That explained why John still had his clothes on and there were no dried bodily fluids: they never even got to sex! How could he allow his body to betray him at such an important moment? God, was he some teenager who couldn’t hold their liquor? “I passed out. While we were kissing.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t really surprised ‘cause you already seemed completely pissed when we were on the sofa.”

Sherlock turned his face away, mortified, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Hey," John grabbed his hand. "Don't be like that. It's not a big deal, Sherlock."

Sherlock lowered his eyes to their linked hands. "I did everything wrong."

"No, you didn't."

Sherlock’s eyes flickered up to fix him a hard stare.

"Okay, usually that doesn’t happen, I'll give you that. That night wasn’t bad, though. None of this has been bad. I've been enjoying all this. The flirting."

"Was I too subtle at times?"

"'Subtle'? I could see you flirting from a mile away."

Sherlock frowned and John did, too. "I'm being an arse right now," John admitted. "Sorry. Didn’t mean it that way. Don't feel ashamed."

"I don't," Sherlock lied automatically.

"You don't? Interesting, that, 'cause you're blushing to your ears."

Sherlock felt the urge to grin, which didn’t make sense considering the embarrassment flooding through him. "That's because you're holding my hand."

"You blush like that just from me holding your hand?"

Sherlock groaned. "John, please."

John chuckled. "All right, I've teased you enough. But, I’ve got to say that I’d never peg you for such a lightweight.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped, affronted. “You weren’t sober, either! You probably would have passed out not long after I did.”

“True, but I wasn’t the one who passed out during a good snog, was I?”

Embarrassment filling him with the desire to outwit, Sherlock said, “Maybe the--as you put it-- _snog,_ wasn’t very good after all.”

“Ooo,” John’s voice deepened in a purr, “is that a challenge?”

John was being flirtatious with him. He’d dreamt of this, but felt at a complete loss now that it was actually happening. “I--”

John pushed him against the chalkboard by the shoulders, much gentler than last time, stood on his toes, and placed his lips on Sherlock’s. His lips were warm and moist from being licked earlier and they felt the tiniest bit chapped, but nothing could ruin the sensation of _kissing John._ Sherlock hesitantly wrapped his arms around John’s back and kissed back, fingers curling and gripping John’s jumper. He was tempted to deepen the kiss, but was too afraid of messing things up. Since John had apparently brought Sherlock to bed, then he was interested in sex, but they were at work now. He should keep the kiss soft, then. He pulled back slowly and opened his eyes, but did not remove his arms from John’s back. He felt his pulse beating in his neck. Having John’s face so close to his was dizzying. When John opened his eyes, Sherlock was able to see just how blue they were.

“Something wrong?” John whispered against his lips.

“No.” Sherlock said.

“Then why’d you stop?” His breath was warm against Sherlock’s skin.

“Someone may walk in at any moment.” That was unlikely since neither of them had any more classes and most people knew they tended to leave around this time, but it was still a possibility.

“Doubt it,” John said and, without warning, nipped Sherlock’s lower lip.

Sherlock grunted in surprise and John pulled back with a cocky grin. “Caught you off guard, did I?” He looked awfully pleased with himself.

Sherlock forced his mind to form a coherent thought through the fog. “John, perhaps you should reconsider whatever it is you’re doing.”

“You’re no fun,” John kissed his jaw.

Sherlock felt John’s lips part and the light pressure turned into a suck. It wasn’t a hard suck, but Sherlock’s fingers tightened around John’s jumper and it sent a thrill through his stomach. Sherlock sensed that John actually enjoyed the possibility of getting caught. He looked over John’s head to the clock on the wall. It was about twenty minutes before the school day would come to a close. No one ever visited his classroom this late in the day. He supposed a nice snog would be harmless. That’s how much John was getting to him; his mind was using words like “snog”. With new-found confidence, Sherlock grabbed John’s chin with one of his hands and lifted it, bringing their lips together with force. He parted his lips and felt John do the same.  They switched from a long kiss to short, wet, smacking kisses. Sherlock was unaware of the pleased hum that rumbled deep in his chest.

John, however, grabbed Sherlock’s curls at his nape and said, “God, your fucking voice.”

“Hm?” Sherlock kissed the corner of John’s mouth.

“‘S so deep,” his grip on Sherlock’s hair tightened.

It hurt a little, but also made Sherlock’s cock twitch and his eyes roll back.

“Like that?” John murmured and sucked Sherlock’s upper lip.

John seemed fond of sucking, which was perfectly fine with Sherlock. Wait, he was supposed to do the same to John’s bottom lip, wasn’t he? He tried it out and was relieved when John let out a faint groan. It felt good, really good. Too good. His cock was starting to harden. He was getting ready to break the kiss again when John’s hand went south and rested on his growing bulge.

His dick twitched happily at the contact. Sherlock nearly gasped. “John?”

John kissed his cheek. “I didn’t get to do this Friday. No way in hell I’m waiting any longer,” he rubbed his palm over the erection and squeezed lightly.

Sherlock swallowed and leaned his head back against the chalkboard. Was he seriously about to let John jerk him off in his classroom? John tilted his palm up _just_ right and it glided against the tip.

“John,” Sherlock said breathlessly, “I fear that I’ll ruin my pants.”

John moved his hand to Sherlock’s zipper. “Time to stop fooling around, then,” he said and unzipped Sherlock’s trousers. His hand snaked its way down Sherlock’s pants and wrapped around the throbbing erection. Sherlock looked away when John took his cock out of his pants, the cool air of the classroom making him shiver. He knew that John was just trying to avoid making a mess, but having his cock out while John was completely covered made Sherlock want to squirm. He didn’t think about that for long, though, because John was damned good at this. He was stroking Sherlock from root to tip, twisting slightly on the way up, thumbing over the tip. John used his other hand the rub at the warm bulge of Sherlock’s testicles through his trousers, cupping them, pressing at a spot behind them that sent tingling pleasure through Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock pressed his lips together tightly to hold in his moan. John must have seen his struggle, because he kissed Sherlock hungrily, allowing Sherlock to moan quietly into his mouth. Without thinking, Sherlock’s hips gave short, quick thrusts against John’s hand, causing John to form a fist.

It was getting to be too much for Sherlock. His balls, which were still being teased by John, tightened and he was pretty sure he felt precome leak from his tip. His legs shook with the effort it took to keep him upright. Just when his pleasure was built enough to drive him mad, John’s tongue licked Sherlock’s lips and found its way inside of his mouth, meeting his own tongue.

Sherlock inhaled sharply through his nose and came, semen spurting on John’s abdomen. It was a miracle that Sherlock’s knees didn’t buckle, he thought hazily, but then he realized that John’s strong arms were holding his slumped form up. When had John done that?

“I ruined your jumper,” he mumbled, his mouth pressed against John’s neck.

“I can cover this with my jacket. No one will notice.” He let go of Sherlock and looked up at him with a small smile on his face. “That was gorgeous.”

Sherlock’s lips twisted into a grin, but then he noticed John’s erection. “John, you--”

“We don’t have time,” he said, wiping his come-covered hand on a tissue he took from his pocket.

“But--” The ring of the final bell interrupted Sherlock. The school day was over. “The cleaning staff will be in here soon.”

“Right,” John said.

“But I want to get you off,” Sherlock pouted.

John’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “That’s not something I hear everyday.”

“John, I’m serious.”

John kissed his cheekbone. “I know. We’ll have other chances.” He glanced back at the clock. “I really need to get my jacket on before someone sees this,” he looked down at the remnants of Sherlock’s climax.

Sherlock didn’t really like looking at it, so he kept his eyes on John’s face. “Want me to get it for you?”

“That would be great, yeah. You might want to zip up your trousers first,” he snickered.

Sherlock fixed himself, fighting a laugh. “I’ll be right back,” he said and left the classroom.

As he walked down the hall to John’s room, he thought about what John said. _We’ll have other chances._ When, though? Did he only mean at work, inside of the classroom? That didn’t sound like something people in relationships did. That sounded like friends with benefits. He grabbed John’s jacket and froze. Was that what they were now? Sherlock didn’t feel comfortable with that. In fact, he despised the idea. He'd cleared up that John wanted him sexually, but not romantically.

He walked back to his room in a fog.

“Thanks,” John smiled and took the jacket, putting it on and zipping it. Sure enough, it hid all evidence of their exchange.

Should Sherlock ask about what they were? He was wrong last time, after all. "John?"

"Hm?"

He had to word this carefully. "You want sex from me." Smooth.

John stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I thought I just made that clear."

"You did. However, things are unclear on other aspects."

John squinted. "What?"

Sherlock ignored his rapid pulse and said in a single breath, "I want to avoid future misunderstandings between us. Since we are co-workers, I believe that things may become uncomfortable if we are not on the same page, especially because we have our colleagues and students around us. You want sex from me, but is that all?"

John took an extra two seconds to process all that. "Oh," he said with a tone not unlike pity. "Sherlock, no." He looked behind him to make sure the door was still shut. He licked his lips and brought his left hand up to cup Sherlock’s cheek.

The gesture was so tender and unexpected that all Sherlock could do was gape.

"I like you," John murmured. "I really do. But, because we're co-workers, we should probably take this slowly."

"A hand job is taking things slowly?"

John grimaced. "Well, no. I mean we shouldn't do this type of thing every day. It'll get suspicious."

"Oh," Sherlock deflated. John was right, though. They couldn't risk getting caught every day. He hoped his cheek wasn't hot under John’s hand.

John pressed a closed-mouthed kiss on his lips. "How about this: we try to stay professional during the week, maybe a kiss here and there. On weekends, we try proper dates. Sound good?"

"Yes," he blurted out.

John smiled widely. "Great."

The door opened and John's hand dropped to his side.

Anderson came in with a broom. "What are you still doing here?"

"We were just leaving," Sherlock said. "Come along, J--Mr. Watson."

As they went their separate ways outside of the building, Sherlock winked at John and turned away, feeling his coat flutter dramatically.

So, he and John basically had a relationship. They just had to hold back until the weekends.

Sherlock wasn’t concerned. He was able to ignore his libido for years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story is not ending with them getting together. As you could probably tell, they'll have more problems up ahead ;)


	8. Frottage and Attempts to Cudde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock may not have much of a problem with holding off on sex at work, but kisses? Kisses are a different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. School happened. Blegh. So, to make it up to you, I decided to write some porn and fluff.

Three days passed and Sherlock was right; he had perfect control over his libido. But, there was another, unexpected problem. Now that Sherlock experienced John’s lips on his, he could not stop thinking about it. It wasn’t his first kiss; he wasn’t _that_ pathetic, thank you very much. (It was his second kiss.) He wanted to do it again. He wanted to kiss John for twenty minutes uninterrupted. An hour. Four hours. He wondered if his lips would hurt eventually. Probably. No matter. He had to wait to until the weekend to kiss John again, anyway. What did John have in mind? Were they going to go to dinner? That sounded awfully ordinary, but not unpleasant.  

The last three days had been torturous. He took John’s lead and acted friendly, but professional. The most they exchanged was heated stares, the tension in the teacher’s lounge so heavy that Sherlock was surprised no one picked up on the change in their relationship. Sherlock wanted to do something more with John, if for no other reason than to confirm that their kisses (and hand job) had really happened, that they weren’t a figment of Sherlock’s twisted imagination. John had made no reference to the incident, so neither did Sherlock. Sherlock wasn’t craving the sex as much as the kisses. He went nearly thirty years without sex and he could surely wait more, although his masturbatory habits certainly increased in a short amount of time. It's not that he didn't enjoy the sex, because he absolutely did. The semen that exploded all over John’s shirt confirmed that. But there was something comforting in the kisses that Sherlock wanted to experience again as soon as possible.

It was the beginning of lunchtime on Friday and Sherlock needed to see John. He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his black dress shirt. He’d noticed John looking at his neck when he thought Sherlock wasn’t looking. Perhaps revealing more of his neck was being a little obvious, but he’d read that teasing is an essential part of flirting. He wanted to tease John enough to see his eyes go dark with lust, and then he would leave. Simply sexually frustrating John would be enough for the afternoon. Collarbone exposed, Sherlock waltzed into John’s classroom and shut the door behind him. Molly was standing in front of John, who was seated at his desk, eating his lunch.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes!” Molly chirped. She was holding a lunchbox with cats on it.

Damn. He forgot she would be there. He couldn’t properly tease John with her presence. He either had to get her to leave the room, or take John to his classroom. “Afternoon,” he smiled politely.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?” John asked, pushing his legs and wheeling his chair back a bit to get a better look at Sherlock. His tone was casual, but Sherlock saw John’s eyes dart down to his neck. Unfortunately, Molly’s eyes went to his neck, as well. Flattering, but unwanted.

"Mr. Watson, I was hoping to tell you about my latest experiment. However," he glanced at Molly, "if you're occupied..." He let the sentence trail off, aiming for John to crave to be in his company.

"Oh, don't stop because of me!" Molly said. "I wouldn't mind listening at all."

That had to have been the furthest thing from what he wanted. John must have known what Sherlock was trying to do because was holding back a smirk. The dunce.

“It’s actually the second part of a long experiment I’m doing,” Sherlock explained, his voice clipped, patience draining. “It wouldn’t make sense because you have not heard the first part.”

“I’d still like to hear about it.”

Sherlock’s eyelid nearly twitched. All he wanted to do was make John sexually frustrated. Apparently, that was too much to ask.

John took pity on him. “Actually, Ms. Hooper, didn’t you say you were going to have lunch with Ms. Donovan? Once he starts talking,” John pointed to Sherlock, “he never shuts up.”

“Oh, you’re right!” she gasped as she looked at the clock on the wall. “Sorry--some other time!” she said to Sherlock.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, not bothering to fake a smile.

She left the room and shut the door behind her, cat lunchbox in hand.

Sherlock shuddered. “Molly Hooper and Sally Donovan in a room together. Being _friends._ Sounds dreadful.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Sally,” John said, getting up from his chair. “You’re just mad because she won’t take your shit.”

Sherlock sputtered, “That is not true!”

John shook his head, walking over to Sherlock with a smile on his face. “Anyone tell you,” he crowded Sherlock’s personal space, putting his hand on the wall next to Sherlock’s head, “you can be a bloody drama queen?”

John was making Sherlock lean against the wall again. Perhaps it made John feel in control. An understandable need, given his inferior height.

Sherlock frowned. “I’m not. Donovan is out to get me.”

“Stop it, you.” He gave a crooked grin. “Weren’t expecting Molly to be here, huh? That why you unbuttoned your shirt?”

Sherlock looked down at John’s chest, unable to meet his eyes. Now that his intentions were said aloud, they seemed rather stupid.

“God, what I want to do to you,” John brushed lips over Sherlock’s collarbone, his breath hot.

Sherlock went to move back more against the wall, only to discover that he couldn’t. Suddenly, his control was slipping away. He couldn’t let this end with him hard and desperate like last time, though. It seemed like he was fine with no sex as long as John wasn’t in the room with him. Control. Control. “Molly could come back in,” he said.

John’s arm dropped from the wall, putting some space between them. “We agreed not to do anything here.”

“Correct.”

“And I still want to spend time with you outside of here, try proper dates.”

“As do I.”

“Sherlock?”

“John?”

“I’m about to break out agreement.”

A little shiver went through Sherlock’s gut. “John?”

“I just,” John cupped Sherlock’s cheek, “I need to kiss you.”

Sherlock laughed weakly. “Giving in already?”

John didn’t smile. “We don’t have to do it long--just a little. Sherlock, please.”

Unable to deny such a request, Sherlock kissed John. He felt joy in knowing that John wanted him over the past few days, too. John returned the kiss, but kept it gentle, which was completely fine with Sherlock. Just having those warm lips against his made Sherlock feel like he was glowing. He was certain that if someone were to cut him open, a vibrant yellow light would spill out of him. God, what the hell was happening to him? He kept his hands by his side, because he knew that if he were to have embraced John, he wouldn’t let go for at least five minutes.

John pulled back, eyelids lowered. “We don’t have work tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock shook his head, looking at John’s lips.

“We should--you should come back to my flat with me. I need to touch you.”

“Tonight?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah. Eyes up here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up from John’s lips. “What will we do?” His mind began to race. “Do I need to prepare somehow? Is there--”

John chuckled. “It won’t be anything serious, Sherlock. You’re thinking too hard.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. But, yeah, how about it? Come back with me to my place? We can order food.”

Sherlock was being given a second chance, so of course he said, “Yes, all right.”

* * *

 A few hours and boxes of Chinese takeaway later, Sherlock was pinned down on John’s sofa by the weight of John’s body, panting. They had managed to get their shirts off, but abandoned further attempts to undress out of desperation. Sherlock wished he had more time to appreciate the sight of John’s bare chest, with golden hair and slightly muscled pecs, but he was a bit busy at the moment. They were doing something, Sherlock forgot what it was called, but it felt divine. While their trousers will still on, their cocks were out, sliding against each other oh-so perfectly. Sherlock’s large hand was around both of them, creating a tunnel, and pre-come produced enough lubrication for John’s cock to slide smoothly against Sherlock’s as he thrust his hips.

John’s eyes were flickering open and closed. He clearly wanted to see Sherlock during this but was being overwhelmed by pleasure, which Sherlock found incredibly hot. John was breathing heavily out of his mouth, not quite panting like Sherlock, but sounding just as desperate for release. How long had they been at this? Didn’t matter. Sherlock was having the time of his life, moving his hips, matching John’s rhythm instinctively. As another bead of pre-come leaked from the head of his prick, Sherlock clamped his mouth shut and hissed, his knees bending and toes curling.

“John,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, sucking the skin there. “Oh god,” he moaned, thrusts speeding up and _finally,_ a burst of hot semen came all over Sherlock’s hand. The heat made Sherlock gasp, eyes widen, and he was coming, too, pleasure spreading over his body in long, intense waves. His toes clenched as hard as they could, painfully and almost giving his feet cramp, and god, what a mess he was making on the two of them.

When the final spurt came from his cock, Sherlock’s knees relaxed, his chest heaved, and he wrapped his arms around John’s back. John was breathing deeply, and he gave a nuzzle to Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock was disappointed that he couldn’t see John’s face as he climaxed. Actually, it seemed like John put his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck because knew he was about to come. That would have to change. But, nothing to do about that now. Sherlock’s brain was too fuzzy to analyze that.

John lifted his head, “Sorry, am I crushing you?”

“No,” Sherlock said honestly. “You’re fine.” He was very much enjoying having John in his arms.

John grinned, bringing his hand up and running his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip. “Maybe I should get up, though,” he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Don’t want this to dry,” he looked down at the semen on their stomachs and flaccid penises.  

The stickiness was getting gross, so Sherlock nodded and let John go get something to clean them. Sherlock awkwardly tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his trousers.

John walked over, wiping his stomach with a wet flannel, and tossed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock tsked. “Making me clean myself? How very unromantic.”

John laughed. “You’re a grown man. You can clean yourself.”

Sherlock wiped himself off and held the dirty flannel out to John.

“I’m not touching that,” John said.

“Fine,” Sherlock threw it across the room. “You can get it later.”

“Brat.” He patted Sherlock’s leg. “Move over.”

Sherlock rolled on his side and wiggled against the back of the sofa. John lay down next to Sherlock, but there wasn’t much room, and he was hanging off the edge of the sofa.

Sherlock quickly wrapped his arms around John’s back. “Careful.” He didn’t even think about doing it. It just happened. Maybe he should let go. John might not like it.

But, John just smiled. “We’re a bit too big.”

“Fascinating observation, John. What made that clear: you nearly falling off, or that my feet are hanging off the arm of the sofa?”

John opened his mouth to retort, but Sherlock’s phone chirped. “Text?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock fished his phone out of his pocket.

“You’ve had that in your pocket the whole time? It’s a wonder it didn’t fall out.”

“You didn’t rock me hard enough,” Sherlock said absentmindedly, unlocking his phone screen.

John raised an eyebrow cheekily. “Was that an invitation?”

“Just a fact,” Sherlock mumbled, his good mood deteriorating when he saw he got a text from Mycroft.

**This will only cause you misfortune in the long run. -M**

Sherlock snarled and threw his phone past John and across the room, landing with a thunk on the carpet.

“Erm,” John said, “should I be worried? Who was that?”

“Nobody important,” Sherlock said. He wasn’t going to let Mycroft interfere with his alone time with John. Mycroft wasn’t worth his anger. Sherlock wrapped his arm back around John and buried his face in John’s hair. He realized that he was cuddling and snapped his head back, biting the inside of his cheek subconsciously. He met John’s eyes and looked away.

John cleared his throat. “You know, you didn’t have to stop.”

Sherlock looked back, taking in the soft, but uncomfortable look in John’s eyes. That didn’t make sense: soft and uncomfortable. John said Sherlock didn’t have to stop cuddling (he hated using that word, but didn’t know a good alternative). John could have been trying to spare his feelings and that was why he was uncomfortable, but that didn’t account for the softness.

“I didn’t?” he asked quietly.

John gave a small shake of his head. Due to their proximity, Sherlock could feel John’s face heating up before he saw it. John was embarrassed. Embarrassed and soft. That made no sense.

Unless John _did_ want to cuddle, but didn’t want to admit it. Oh, that made sense!

Sherlock slowly nestled his face back in John’s hair, inhaling. His hair was soft, a little damp from sweating a few minutes ago, and smelled earthy.

“Is this okay?” Sherlock whispered.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso, and Sherlock felt like he was going to combust. “Yeah,” John whispered back.

Sherlock’s heart was beating like a jackhammer. He felt more nervous about doing this than anything sexual. Despite that, Sherlock heard his mind going quiet. Odd, since he thought only an orgasm could achieve that.

“Breathe, Sherlock,” John murmured.

“I am breathing.”

“Breathe slower. I can feel your heart.”

Sherlock made his breaths slower.

“If you don’t like this, then we can stop,” John said.

 _No, I’m afraid you’ll find out how much I love this._ “No.”

John cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck and smoothed his hand up into Sherlock’s curls. His fingers stroked slowly and gently, and Sherlock felt like a melting stick of butter. The last person to have stroked his hair was Mummy when he was seven years-old. He’d forgotten how much he adored this. A low, pleased hum rumbled through him and he didn’t even notice his eyes slipping closed.

John made a sound combined with fondness and amusement. “You really like that. This is kind of adorable.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock grumbled, opening his eyes to glare. John then scratched his scalp lightly, which made his eyes close again and his body wiggle closer to John's.

“My god, this is like an off-switch. I should do this more often.”

“Please do,” Sherlock said, forcing his eyes to open again.

“I should do this at work when you’re being rude to shut you up.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t. It’s a nice thought, though.”

Sherlock entertained the thought of John making him like this at work in front of their colleagues and students. It would be humiliating. He would lose the respect of everyone.

But, John said he wouldn’t do it, and Sherlock believed him. John had no desire to make their relationship--whatever their status was--known, and Sherlock was certain it would remain a secret. He was too intelligent to let anything happen.

Sherlock kissed John's chest and let himself be petted, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you all know where this is going ;). But, don't worry; you're going to get sex against a chalkboard before any drama.


	9. The Tipping Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John just can't resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter I've written for this story, and the majority of it is a sex scene. Yay!

The next couple weeks went by rather uneventfully at work. Sherlock and John shared heated stares and private smiles, but aside from a few kisses, nothing happened. They were saving everything for the weekend like they did last time, but unfortunately, something came up. On Friday afternoon, John told Sherlock that he had to be with his sister on the weekend. He said he had to support her because she just came out of rehab and there was no one else to care for her.

Sherlock had nodded and said, “I understand, John. It’s perfectly fine.”

It, of course, was not fine, because it left him horribly frustrated. He jerked off more that weekend than he did throughout the entirety of his teenage years. The worst part of all was that John had to stay with her (Harley? Haley? Harry?) the weekend after, as well. Sherlock could not protest to this because it would probably make him look like an inconsiderate bastard, which he was, but he wanted to hide that from John as much as possible. Plus, complaining would make him look needy. But god, he was _aching_ for John. He really thought he deserved a BAFTA for being able to keep his composure when John was in the same room. He just wanted to rip John’s clothes off and suck him until his screamed. Okay, so he never actually performed (or received) oral sex, but it couldn’t be that difficult. He could watch porn as research.

Needless to say, Sherlock was bursting.

It was Wednesday and thankfully, he didn’t have class at the moment. The students had to attend some assembly in the auditorium about the dangers of drugs, or something like that. He knew that he had two periods free, and that was enough for him.

Sherlock was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed, trying to clear his head. He could go for a cigarette. John wouldn’t approve. Sherlock rubbed harder at his head, but stopped when it began to hurt. He was craving the sensation of John’s hands on his body, rubbing and stroking. Sherlock’s eyes flew open when he realized his hand left his temple and was rubbing his nipple. He couldn’t do that at work! He sat on his hands. This was getting ridiculous.

The classroom door burst open to reveal John, eyes dark and hungry. He immediately shut the door behind him. “Where’s your keys?”

Sherlock grabbed his keys from a drawer in his desk. “Here,” he held them out, “but why--”

John strode over and took them. “Which one locks this room?”

“The silver one,” Sherlock said.

The only other key on the ring was the golden one to his flat, so John knew which one he meant and locked the door, throwing the keys down on a desk.

“John?”

John came over to him with the deft of a panther and grabbed Sherlock by the shirt collar, crushing their mouths together. Sherlock’s hands flew up to grip John’s shoulders. The sheer force of the kiss made him groan.

John pulled back, eyes more intense than before. “I can’t take it anymore,” he said gruffly. “I can’t wait until fucking Friday.” He kissed Sherlock again, parting his lips. Sherlock followed suit, and nearly jumped in his chair when John started sucking his bottom lip. John clearly wasn’t screwing around. Sherlock sucked John’s top lip. It was soft and hot and wet, and Sherlock already felt his cock responding. He was such a sex-driven mess lately. He from a few weeks ago would be disgusted. John put his hand in Sherlock’s hair and grabbed a fistful of curls. Sherlock trembled and squeezed John’s broad shoulder, holding himself steady.

John broke them apart and attacked Sherlock’s neck, kissing and sucking at the spot behind Sherlock’s ear, then turning the kisses softer as he moved down Sherlock’s neck to his collarbone.

Sherlock swallowed. “John, how far do you plan to take this?”

John looked up. “We’ve got over and hour to ourselves and I haven’t touched you in two weeks. I’m going as far as you’ll allow.”

“Oh god,” Sherlock said shakily, his cock liking that idea very much.

John stepped back, a playful grin at his lips. “I take it you like that idea?”

Sherlock nodded, mouth filling with saliva when his eyes dropped to the tent in John’s trousers. “This could be dangerous,” he said.

“Perfect,” John grinned wider. “Take off your shirt.”

Something about being directly ordered made heat form in his abdomen. Sherlock stood and unbuttoned his shirt quickly, eagerness outweighing any self-consciousness for the time being. Once his chest was bare, John put his hands around Sherlock’s slender hips and kissed him deeply, stepping forward and backing Sherlock into the desk behind him. Sherlock put on hand on the desk and the other around John’s neck.

Sherlock gasped when John rubbed his nipple. John ducked down and licked the hardened nub, lapping at it, sucking it. It felt like jolts of electricity were being fired into Sherlock’s nipple and he threw his head back and moaned.

John blew cold air on it and lifted his head. “I love how sensitive you are,” he said huskily. “You’re so beautiful,” he kissed his cheek and rubbed the other nipple.

Sherlock felt like his face was on fire. “Beautiful?” he repeated meekly, his mind foggy with lust. That was not meant to come out, but he couldn’t think straight. He pressed his lips together tightly and looked down.

John cupped Sherlock’s chin and gently upturned his head.

Sherlock closed his eyes, shame rising in him.

“Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed tighter. He buried his face in John’s neck and started kissing, hoping to distract John.

“Sherlock,” John said amusedly. “Look at me.”

Sherlock braced himself and looked back at him.

John’s small smile faded, but his expression was still soft. “Beautiful,” he said reverently.

No one in his life called him that. Sherlock started breathing heavier. He kissed John, unable to look him in the eye anymore.

John’s hands smoothed down Sherlock’s sides and he hummed into the kiss. “Sherlock,” he murmured against his lips. “Will you let me do something?”

“Yes,” he kept kissing John, overwhelmed with emotion.

John giggled, “Can you-- _mmm_ \--stop for a second?”

Sherlock stopped kissing him and opened his eyes. John must have been daft; if anyone in the room were beautiful, it was him. John’s hair was sticking up, his cheeks were rosy, and his lips were red and glistening. Sherlock could have whimpered at the sight.

“Take off your trousers and pants,” John told him. “Doesn’t have to be all the way.”

Sherlock unbuckled his belt and threw it on the floor with a _clang._

“Can you at least try not to make noise?” John scolded him.

Sherlock ignored him and pulled down his trousers and pants enough for his cock to spring free. He would have felt embarrassed at the way it flopped out if John weren’t licking his lips. “Turn around. Lean against the desk.”

 _Oh fuck._ Sherlock turned around and braced his hands on the desk. He gulped when he heard John drop to his knees, shivering as John grabbed his cheeks and spread them apart. He bit his lips, feeling exposed. “John?” he whispered.

“It’s all right,” he whispered back. “You’re all right.”

Sherlock forgot how to breathe when John’s tongue poked around his hole, teasing it. His elbows shook violently as John went down and licked his perineum, pressing his tongue against that sensitive spot, and licked the back of his sack. John’s tongue licked back up, playing with Sherlock’s hole again, which twitched in response.

Sherlock never felt anything so intense in his life. He remembered to keep quiet and bit his lip hard. His elbows gave out and he fell on top of the desk. Sherlock grunted and let his cheek rest against the cool wood. He grabbed the sides of the desk and squeezed hard, his palms sweating. He felt like he was going _insane._ He was completely hard and leaking already.

Then, John’s tongue entered him, and Sherlock couldn’t hold back the cry that escaped from his throat. John was relentless; his tongue thrust in and out, quickly, determinedly. It was so damn hot and wet and fucking filthy. Sherlock brought his arm up and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling his moans.

John pulled back and Sherlock could breathe again. He whined and looked back. “John! Why--?”

John licked one if his fingers and put it inside Sherlock. Sherlock gasped and put his face back into his elbow.

“Okay?” John asked, sounding breathless.

Sherlock nodded. It didn’t feel as intense as the tongue, and it even felt a little odd, but it didn’t hurt. John thrust his finger in and out of Sherlock, but slowly, clearly afraid that he was going to hurt him. But, John’s tongue had done a fine job of loosening him up, so Sherlock said, “More.”

John put a second finger in, and that hurt a little. Not a lot, but enough to make Sherlock grunt.

John scissored his fingers in Sherlock slowly, then pulled them out. “By any chance do you have lotion or something in here?”

Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbows, forcing his brain to form a thought that didn’t have to do with his straining cock. “Um,” he cleared his throat. “I think,” he stood up clumsily, his legs wobbling a little, trousers and pants pooling at his ankles. He opened a drawer to his desk, producing a bottle of scentless hand lotion.

“I won’t ask why you have this,” John took the bottle.

“Chalk can dry out your skin,” he grumbled.

John rolled his eyes affectionately and pushed Sherlock against the chalkboard, his bulge hard and hot through his trousers. “You know what I’m about to do?”

Sherlock nodded, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his neck. This was really going to happen. His legs started to shake more in anticipation. What the hell was he, some kind of fawn?

John kissed Sherlock’s Adam’s apple and unzipped his own trousers, pulling them down roughly along with his pants. He coated his cock with lube and groaned at the brief touch of his hand. He hoisted Sherlock’s legs around his waist.

“Are you sure, Sherlock?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, wrapping his long legs around John tightly. “Get on with it.”

John pushed his prick into Sherlock with a long, slow motion. Sherlock’s jaw dropped open in a soundless whine. It hurt. It wasn’t as bad as he thought because he was pretty loose from John’s tongue and fingers, but it was the first time he had someone inside him.

John kissed Sherlock’s chest and breathed heavily, almost growling, but stayed still. He was holding back for Sherlock. Impressive, considering how hard he was, Sherlock noted.

Sherlock felt the burning sensation subside and he held onto John’s shoulders. “Move.”

John pulled out until only the tip was in and rocked his hips up again, sliding back in. Sherlock had to bite the back of his hand to prevent himself from moaning out loud. It wasn’t as intense as John’s tongue, but this filled him more, made him feel like nothing was left untouched. John’s prick was sliding against Sherlock’s inner walls and why the fuck didn’t they do this before?

Sherlock’s head fell back against the chalkboard and he closed his eyes, feeling lost in the pleasure. This was going to be over soon. He had been so hard for so long. He felt like he was getting there; his balls were tightening and his cock was leaking onto his stomach.

“Sherlock,” John groaned, biting his pale shoulder. “Oh god, _fuck,”_ he moved faster. “You’ve no idea what you do to me.” He bit Sherlock again to muffle a moan. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he panted. “Fucking brilliant.”

John hit a spot inside Sherlock that made him gasp so sharply for air it nearly choked him. The spot made pleasure burst throughout Sherlock’s entire being, and he was coming untouched, spurting between them, hitting Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock was biting his lip so hard he tasted blood, and he was whimpering weakly, the last spurts of semen shooting out of him.

John groaned and Sherlock felt him come, too, the heat of his seed filling Sherlock. John rode out his orgasm with erratic thrusts and whispered curse words. Sherlock thought he looked divine.

John leaned heavily against Sherlock, catching his breath. They came back to earth after a minute or so. John pulled out and gently lowered Sherlock’s legs onto the ground. Sherlock grunted, his entrance oversensitive, and stumbled and grabbed his chair, wheeling it over and plopping into it.

John slumped against the wall, his clothed chest heaving. He looked at Sherlock lazily. “You might not want to sit down. You’re going to ruin that chair.”

“Shit,” Sherlock stood. He felt John’s semen dripping out of him. He grimaced. He didn’t like that feeling.

“Sorry,” John said, tucking himself into his pants. “Should have worn a condom.”

Sherlock grabbed the tissue box on his desk and cleaned himself. He looked at John and realized his come got all over John’s shirt.

“John!” He pointed at the mess.

John looked down. He took off his jumper to reveal a T-shirt underneath. “I’ll just say I got coffee on it.” He stood up, fixing his trousers. “Not a big deal. Are you okay?”

Sherlock threw away the disgusting tissues. “Yes.” He was, but he also felt strange. Like he needed something. Something like human contact. Would John mind?

Mind clouded, Sherlock hugged John, a little rougher than intended because of his wobbly legs.

“Easy,” John said soothingly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “Easy.”

Yes, this was exactly what he needed. He felt a rush of dopamine and nuzzled John’s neck. “John.”

John inhaled deeply, “Sherlock.” He kissed Sherlock’s ear. “Get dressed, love.”

Sherlock let go, choosing not to comment on the endearment in case John hadn’t meant to say it, and pulled his trousers back up. He retrieved his discarded belt and shirt. He didn’t even want to know what his hair looked like. “Am I presentable?” he asked once he was finished dressing.

“Mhm,” John nodded. “Am I?”

“Yes, as long as you lie about the jumper with the coffee.”

“I plan to. How much time until that assembly ends?”

Sherlock looked at the clock. “Forty-two minutes.”

“Great,” John smiled. “I, can we…”

“Yes?”

“Can we just, you know, sit? And, uh,” he cleared his throat.

“In my chair?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a little cramped for two.”

“Exactly.”

Sherlock beamed. “Oh!” He sat in the chair and held out his arms.

John laughed. “You’re such a nutter.” He sat on Sherlock’s lip and kissed him briefly on the mouth.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John securely, holding him to his chest. Holding John was on his list of favorite things to do, right below kissing John, and right on par with getting fucked by John. “We should do that again,” Sherlock said.

“We should. Did I hurt you?”

“No. It was good. Very good.” Sherlock thought back to John calling him beautiful, gorgeous, and brilliant. He rested his head above John’s to hide his pink cheeks. “It was fantastic.”

“It was,” John said in a dreamy tone. “It was.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, but was surprised to find that they had a hard time opening. He couldn’t fall asleep here. He sat up straight and held John tighter.

“You okay?” John asked.

“Tired.”

John grinned and stroked Sherlock’s cheek gently, tracing his skin up into his hairline, moving the fringe away. Sherlock rested against the back of the chair and let John stroke his curls, eyes sliding shut. He shook his head. “John, stop that. You know what that does.”

“Puts you to sleep like an adorable toddler? Yeah, I know.”

“I’m not trying to fall asleep.”

“We have forty-five minutes.”

“Forty, now. And I never sleep at work.”

“You never had anal sex at work until ten minutes ago.”

Good point. “I’d really rather not.”

“Okay, fine,” John moved his hand away from Sherlock’s hair. “I would have woken you up before class time.”

Sherlock kissed John’s forehead. “I know.”

They sat in comfortable, lazy silence, John’s head resting atop Sherlock’s shoulder, fingers playing with Sherlock’s shirt buttons. Sherlock was completely at ease. He smiled. His John. He loved him so.

Sherlock’s heart attempted to catapult out of his chest.

“Woah, you okay?” John asked. “You just got really tense.”

Love. He loved John. He _loved_ John. Could he be wrong? Was he mad?

Time to review:

\--He thought John was gorgeous

\--He liked his sense of humor

\--He liked his short temper (odd, but true)

\--He adored his mannerisms

\--He loved spending time with him

\--They never ran out of things to talk about

\--John made him laugh

\--John made him happy

\--John gave him a reason to get up in the morning

\--Sherlock admired his bravery

\--He always thought about John

\--He missed John during the day

\--He wanted to hold John all of the time

\--He wanted to wake up every morning with John

\--He wanted to live with John

\--He wanted their relationship to become official

 

He loved John.

But, did John love him?

John was looking at him questioningly.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said. “It’s nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go: chalkboard sex! And some added rimming.  
> It took Sherlock nine fucking chapters to realize he's in love with John. I hate him. But I made him that way. That dumb fuck.  
> Btw I realize that having anal sex (not to mention rimming) is a bad idea unless certain preparations were made...if you know what I mean...But this is fan fiction so real world body dilemmas don't apply lmao


	10. The Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't repeatedly fuck at work and expect to go on forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking over two weeks for this chapter. School has been tiring. I participated in my first protest on Thursday, too. Woot woot.  
> By the way, I've gotten a few concerned comments asking if this story is going to have a sad ending. I don't know if I wrote anything in the chapter notes to indicate that, but don't worry: this will have a happy ending. Sad endings are usually a no-no for me.

After the incident against the chalkboard, things felt odd. For one thing, John was getting bolder at work. He didn’t fuck Sherlock again, although he expressed his desire to.

“I wish we were out of here,” he whispered into Sherlock’s ear, his hand reaching down Sherlock’s trousers. “Can’t wait to be inside you again.”

Sherlock got very close to coming in his pants when John said that.

There may not have been any anal sex, but they kissed every day now. Sometimes the kisses were short and sweet, only a little more than a peck before someone saw, or sometimes they led to a frantic hand job or two. They were having fun, but Sherlock felt an ache in his chest.

That was where the odd part came in. At first it confused him, but now Sherlock knew why he felt that way. Sherlock was having doubts about what he meant to John. Whenever they were done having sex, John would smile and joke around with Sherlock, maybe pet him a bit, which was all fine and good, but that could be attributed to endorphins. It was common knowledge that the human body craved cuddling after orgasm. Sherlock was craving non-sexual physical contact to confirm that he wasn't just a nice fuck. He was beginning to wonder if their activities meant more to him than they did to John. He loved John. He wanted to hold him close, he wanted to make love. What a ridiculous term. Ridiculous, but applicable. He wanted to show John how much he cared, if not through his words then through his actions. He wanted their sex to be something more. He wanted them to be official.

But, how could he bring it up such a sensitive matter? What if John didn’t love him, and would go away when he learned of Sherlock’s true feelings? He could not bear the thought. This is why he never engaged in anything like this before. It was so emotionally taxing.

Maybe he could test out if John also wanted non-sexual contact. Maybe he could experiment.

Two weeks after the sex in his classroom, Sherlock took a deep breath and went into John's room at lunch. John was the only one in there. Perfect.

"Hey, Sherlock," John smiled, rising from his chair. "I didn't see you this morning in the lounge. What have you been up to?"

Sherlock had no transition. He had to be brave and just go for it. He pressed his lips together, went over to John with four long strides of his legs, and attacked John in a bear hug. He heard John grunt in surprise. Sherlock closed his eyes and buried his face in John’s neck, wrapping his arms securely, but not too tightly around John’s back. His fingers spread out on the soft fabric of John’s jumper. It was the blue one that matched John’s eyes. Sherlock liked that one a lot.

John tentatively embraced Sherlock, his arms near Sherlock’s lower back. “You okay?” John asked.

“Mmm,” Sherlock cherished the warmth of the skin of John’s neck against his cheek. John wasn’t pushing him away yet. He slowly moved forward and brought their bodies closer, chests together, hearts beating against each other. Sherlock’s face warmed at the overwhelming feeling and he breathed deeply.

John brushed his lips over Sherlock’s temple. “What’s going on, Sherlock?”

“Why do you think something is wrong?” Sherlock’s defensive tone was muffled by John’s skin.

“I dunno--you waltzed into my room and hugged me without a word. Are you upset about something?”

“I can’t just hug you?”

“You can. It just seems unlike you.”

Sherlock shrugged and hugged John tighter. “I have a headache,” he lied.

“Oh,” John held him tighter and soothingly stroked the length of Sherlock’s neck, moving up to his curls, then moving down to his back. Sherlock sighed. John’s warm hand felt blissful. He have lied about having a headache more often. This was a good sign: John cared enough about his wellbeing to comfort him.

“Too much going on in your brain today?” John asked.

“There’s always too much,” Sherlock said.

They stood in silence for a couple minutes. Sherlock felt tension slowly melt from John’s body. Sherlock kissed John’s shoulder and stood up straight, feeling a little more at ease. John wasn’t smiling, but his gaze was affectionate. Sherlock cupped John’s cheek in his hand.

That made John’s lips quirk up in a tiny smile, but he looked away, his expression suddenly bashful.

Sherlock frowned and stroked John’s cheek with his thumb his left arm tightening around John. John kept looking away. This wasn’t the first time he had such a reaction to Sherlock’s touch, and it was worrying, especially because everything was going well just a moment ago.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked softly.

“Yeah,” John looked at him. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what? Me touching you?”

“Like this, yeah.”

“‘Like this’? What does that mean? ”

John opened his mouth to answer, but the classroom door burst open loudly. Sherlock and John ripped their embrace apart and looked at the intruder with wide eyes.

It was Lestrade.

Cold dread filled Sherlock’s stomach. He didn’t dare look at John.

Lestrade looked grim. “Both of you in my office. Now.” He walked away without waiting for a response.

“Sherlock,” John said tightly.

“Come on,” he walked out the door, eyes straight ahead. Lestrade knew. He had to know. There was nothing else he could look so upset about. He knew. But how? No one was ever around when they were intimate. Sherlock would have known if someone were ever watching them. He took out his phone and looked at the time: 12:07. That gave Lestrade thirty-eight minutes to lecture them before lunch ended and they had to teach.

Sherlock and John followed Lestrade down to the first floor to his office, none of them saying a word. Sherlock wanted to take John’s hand and try to calm his nerves, but that would do nothing to help their case, and Sherlock himself felt too anxious to comfort someone else.

They entered Lestrade’s office. John, who was the last to come in, shut the door behind them. Lestrade’s office was small, but nice, easily capable of impressing any parent thinking about sending their child to the school. Lestrade had his degrees hung on the wall and there was a bookshelf filled with the classics.

Sherlock had been in this office too many times.

Lestrade sat in the red, leather chair behind his desk and Sherlock and John sat in the small, wooden chairs in front of it. The size of the wooden chairs was meant to make whoever sat in them feel subconsciously inferior to Lestrade because of the larger size of his chair. _Transparent tactic,_ Sherlock almost said out loud, but he bit his tongue. It wouldn’t be wise to call out Lestrade at the moment. Sherlock sat back and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He wasn’t going to be rude to Lestrade, but he wasn’t going to appear perturbed, either.

Lestrade sighed heavily and put his elbows on his desk, rubbed his face with his hands, and dropped his arms on the desk. Whatever he was about to say, he clearly didn’t want to address it, but knew he had to.

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson,” he said, “do you know why I’ve brought you here?”

“You know,” Sherlock said simply.

Lestrade nodded.

Out of his peripheral vision, Sherlock could see John was sitting rigidly, his back looking painfully straight and tense. “How?” John asked.

Lestrade scowled suddenly. “I was given evidence.”

“Evidence?” John asked.

“Yeah, from Anderson.”

Everything clicked and Sherlock knew exactly what happened. He inhaled sharply, and Lestrade must have heard, because his eyes flicked to Sherlock.

Lestrade shook his head in disgust. “Soiled tissues in the waste bins? Really?”

“Oh god,” John whispered.

Sherlock wanted to run out of the building. _How_ had he been so careless? He was a _genius._ He should have seen this coming. With the frequency of their activities, it was obvious they couldn’t go on forever.

“He found soiled tissues in the bins in both of your rooms,” Lestrade said accusingly.

“Why was he looking through our trash?” Sherlock asked. “His job is to clean and throw things away, not examine the content of our waste.”

“Don’t try to turn this around, Holmes,” Lestrade said sharply.

Sherlock pressed his lips together tightly.

“You shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Lestrade continued, conveniently avoiding any specifics of what they did. “This behavior would be inappropriate in any work setting, but this is a bloody _school!_ There are kids here!”

“We’re very sorry,” John said, looking ashamed, but sincere. “It was wrong of us to bring our relationship into the workplace.”

“Damn right, it was,” Lestrade grumbled. “I’m severely disappointed in both of you.”

“I apologize,” Sherlock said and he meant it. He shouldn’t have let his desires get the best of him.

Lestrade was looking at him intensely. “Sherlock,” he said in a softer tone, “I don’t want to do this.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply, knowing exactly what was to follow. “Do what you must.”

He waited, but only silence followed. He opened his eyes.

Lestrade looked troubled. “Look, you two are great teachers, and seem like pretty decent blokes. I’d actually be happy for you in a different situation. But, what you’ve done is against the rules. I’m sorry, but I can’t have you doing this. I’ll have to let both of you go.”

Sherlock knew it was coming, but that did not lessen the blow. It felt like a punch to the gut. As much as he complained about his students, he genuinely enjoyed teaching. He truly enjoyed watching young minds learn, to grasp concepts and come to correct conclusions. He liked the school itself. The likelihood of finding another job was damaged by the reason he got fired. What was it going to say on his record, _“Fired for shagging at work and getting semen everywhere”?_

Worst of all, what was John going to do? Technically, Sherlock didn’t need the money. He had come from a wealthy family and only taught because he wanted to. But John wasn’t so fortunate. He lived in a tiny flat.

“We understand,” John said quietly.

Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on Lestrade. He couldn’t look at John’s face.

Lestrade’s mouth was set in a deep frown. “Listen, it’s April. How about I let you finish out the year here? Sound fair?”

“More than fair,” Sherlock said. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” John said, his voice enthusiastic. “That would be very kind of you.”

“In the meantime,” Lestrade said firmly, “I don’t want to find any of--that--again.”

“Of course not,” John shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” Sherlock agreed.

All right,” Lestrade sighed again. “We’ll get the paperwork started later. For now, go upstairs and get ready for your next class.”

“Yes, sir,” said John.

Sherlock nodded.

When they rose from the chairs, John made a point of taking Sherlock’s hand. Their first public display of affection, right in front of their (soon to be former) boss. Sherlock looked to him for an explanation, but John just led him out of the room.

Lestrade looked at them with raised eyebrows, but said nothing.

They went upstairs in silence, lost in thought. When they walked towards John’s room, he turned to Sherlock and let go of his hand. “Sorry about that. Just, might as well, you know?”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Sherlock told him.

John looked puzzled, but he just cleared his throat and said, “We’ll talk about this later.”

They went into their respective rooms, but Sherlock found it impossible to focus for the rest of the day. He taught in a fog. He wasn’t even sure if anything he said was comprehensible, if the odd looks his students gave were indicative of anything. When the day was over, Sherlock left his room to go to John’s. He saw Anderson on the way, but didn’t have the energy to confront him. _Later._

John held up his hand when Sherlock came in. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t do it here. We’ve done enough here.” He was frowning and his eyebrows were furrowed deeply. “Can leave?”

“Yes. My place?” Sherlock offered.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

They rode to Baker Street in silence, neither in the mood to talk or knowing what to say. There was so much silence that day. Sherlock always found it odd how sadness could render someone speechless.

Sherlock was grateful Mrs. Hudson was out. He wasn’t up for her asking about who John was and cooing and smiling and being annoying.

John had never been to 221B before, so he looked around a bit when they went into the flat.

“Is that a skull?” John pointed to the object on the mantle.

“Friend of mine,” Sherlock said.

John looked like he was attempting to smile, but couldn’t pull it off.

Sherlock gestured to the red arm chair in front of the fireplace. “Sit, please.”

John did and Sherlock sat across from him in the green chair.

“Why do you have two arm chairs?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “It all belongs to my landlady.” He’d thought about what it would be like if John lived with him, spending quiet evenings sitting across from each other.

John squeezed the end of the arm of the chair nervously with his left hand. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “Whatever for?”

“I’m the one who insisted on having sex at work,” he said sadly. “I couldn’t keep it in my bloody pants. It’s because of me that we were caught.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why are you blaming yourself? I was a willing participant and even initiated at least half of what we did.”

“You initiated kissing,” John corrected, “not sex. That was all me.”

Sherlock didn’t understand why John felt guilty. If anything, they shared an equal amount of blame in this. Actually, Sherlock was more to blame. “I’m a genius. I should have known better, or at least hidden the evidence better.”

John had smiled at the word ‘genius’, but it went away quickly. “This is bad, Sherlock.”

“I know. But, at least Lestrade is letting us finish out the year.”

“Yeah. He didn’t have to do that. It was really nice of him.” John cleared his throat, eyes darting downward. “I just wish we would’ve had more time together.”

That made zero sense. “What are you talking about?”

John laughed bitterly. “I thought we could have carried this over into next school year. Maybe the year after that, too.”

Sherlock couldn’t process that. “I don’t understand, John.”

“Come on,” he said in irritation, “you know what I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t, John,” Sherlock said, feeling confused and getting more than a little annoyed. “Would you stop being vague?”

John glared. “Am I annoying you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said honestly. “I’d like to know what you’re going on about.”

John snorted, “And you say you’re a genius.” John leaned forward dangerously. “Have you not worked it out by now, hm?”

John got angry when defensive. Sherlock knew that, but, emotions high, he leaned forward and looked directly into John’s eyes. He was too stressed to play games. “Apparently not,” he spat.

“Are you really so oblivious, or do you not care that much?”

Sherlock ran all of his fingers through his hair roughly. “John, just tell me.”

John lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. “I wanted to continue this with you. I really did, even if you didn’t. But now that we won’t be working together, we won’t see each other. I’m not happy about that, okay?” He practically jumped out of the chair and started pacing, muttering _insensitive prick_ under his breath.

Sherlock blinked. He felt completely lost. He swallowed and found his voice, “John, why can’t we keep going with this after the school year?”

John stopped pacing and looked at him, anger cooling into puzzlement. “You...You want to?”

“Yes!” Sherlock nearly exploded. “I thought I’ve made that crystal clear. Why--”

His brain screeched to a halt. John didn’t think Sherlock wanted to go on with this if they weren’t working together. That wouldn’t be the case if they were in a relationship. “John, what are we?”

“What?”

“Our relationship status?”

John’s hands clenched into fists and his chest heaved with a deep breath. “Friends with benefits, aren’t we?” His body language radiated discomfort.

_Aren’t we?_ He was looking for confirmation. Why? Was it because he wanted them to be that, or he thought things were that way? Sherlock remembered what John said earlier that day when they were hugging (god, it felt like ages ago). John wasn’t used to Sherlock touching him like this. Sherlock had wanted to ask John about that, but then they were interrupted.

“John, this afternoon, you said you weren’t used to me touching you ‘like this’. What did you mean by that?”

John took a moment to remember what Sherlock was talking about. When he did, he looked down at his feet, embarrassment taking over his features again. “Affectionately. Not because of sex.”

Sherlock was missing something.

So, John wasn’t used to non-sexual physical contact from Sherlock (Sherlock only held himself back because he thought John didn’t want it), he thought they were friends with benefits, he thought their relationship would end after the school year and was unhappy with that thought, and he had displayed signs of embarrassment when Sherlock gave him affection. It looked like embarrassment, but it also seemed like John was holding himself back. Was John’s reason for holding back the same as Sherlock’s?

All of these thoughts pelted Sherlock’s brain like bullets, and he held his head in pain.

“Sherlock?” John was at his side, kneeling down and grabbing his shoulder and knee. “What’s wrong?”

“John, you think we’re friends with benefits. Do you want us to be?”

John’s mouth opened and snapped closed. He looked away and let go of Sherlock.

Negative. John didn’t want to be friends with benefits. He wanted to continue their relationship.

Things were becoming a little clearer and Sherlock felt numb. “John,” he gently grabbed John’s chin and turned his head to face him. John’s blue eyes looked frightened. Frightened of him? No, frightened of the conversation. His brave John, scared of emotional conversations. “What do you think you are to me?”

John cleared his throat and licked his lips. His most prominent nervous tics. “A nice shag?” he laughed weakly.

John thought he wasn’t important. Sherlock almost gasped in horror. There he was just a few hours ago, consumed in his own insecurities, when John thought so little of himself. Sherlock was the fucking _worst_ partner ever. He felt utterly disgusted with himself. He would he ever let John feel this way? He needed to set things straight immediately.

“No,” Sherlock said, not caring about the roughness of his voice. “No, John.”

John, god, he looked completely baffled. “I’m not? Then, what are we? What am I?”

Sherlock cupped both of John’s cheeks with his hands, “Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of stories (including my own) deal with Sherlock's insecurities and doubts about their relationship, but less deal with John's. So, I decided that John needed some reassurance. Sherlock's going to take really good care of him in the next chapter ;)


	11. Barriers Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sets things straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're about to experience emotional sex. I hope you enjoy.

John swallowed and blinked twice. Were his eyes growing wet? Sherlock didn’t want to point it out. He held John’s face in his hands and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs, eliciting a soft, almost inaudible gasp from John.

“I thought--” John croaked. He cleared his throat, “Sherlock, why didn’t you say any of that--that I mean...more?” He was clearly struggling to get the words out, but they needed to talk.

“Why didn’t _you?”_ Sherlock countered. “You said you wanted to take things slowly, and slowly we went until the incident against the chalkboard.” Sherlock fought his rising blush and went on, “I thought our encounters became more frequent only because of lust on your side. You always seemed uncomfortable with things like this,” he stroked John’s face again for emphasis, “so, I believed you did not share my desires.” He paused and took in John’s bewilderment. “I was wrong.”

“Why do you always assume the worst?” John placed his left hand atop Sherlock’s right, not moving the hand away from his face, just holding.

Sherlock didn’t have an answer. Well, he did, but it was pathetic. But, he should start being more open with John. “Because the worst has always happened to me,” he murmured.

“Not anymore,” John took Sherlock’s hand and kissed the palm.

Sherlock felt the corners of his lips tingle and he let a small grin fall into place. “You still haven’t answered my question: why did you never say anything?”

John sighed and rose to his feet, letting go of Sherlock’s hand. He was closing himself off again. Sherlock would not allow it. He stood from his chair and took John’s hands in his, staring at him intensely.

“John, please tell me. I want to know what I did wrong.”

John grinned bleakly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just an idiot. I should have known; you had doubts before, so it makes sense that you... It’s just--I didn’t think you could feel that way.”

A pang shot through Sherlock’s heart. “You thought I lack the capacity to care?”

John recognized his error and his eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that I didn’t think you _could_ feel that way, just that you didn’t feel that way about _me_.”

John used a triple negative in that sentence. Impressive. No, there were more important things to discuss. Sherlock rubbed his thumbs over the top of John’s hands. He hadn’t realized how small John’s hands were compared to his, and he enjoyed holding them greatly. “You thought I couldn’t feel that way about _you?_ Why? What sense does that make?”

Wrong thing to say. John’s face scrunched up in angry embarrassment. “I don’t know!” he hissed defensively, pulling his hands back.

Sherlock caught his hands. “John,” he said softly, “I’m sorry, I just don’t understand.”

John looked at him, studying his face as if looking for proof that Sherlock wasn’t mocking him, and sighed in defeat. “Sorry. I don’t know, Sherlock. I just didn’t think someone like you could want someone like me.”

“But, I’ve wanted to be with you from the beginning. Did I truly not make that obvious?” He practically threw himself at John for months.

John looked down at their joined hands. “I really thought it was just sex. I thought you were holding out for someone more intelligent. I don’t know. I--I just--don’t know.” His eyes flickered up to Sherlock’s. "This whole time, you've really wanted this?"

"Yes," he said emphatically. He needed to prove it. “In the beginning, when I awoke in your bed, I feared that you simply let me stay out of the goodness of your heart, and not because you wanted me. Remember?”

“I do,” John nodded. “You seemed upset that Monday.”

“Precisely: I was upset. Why would I be upset if I didn’t care for you?”

John nodded again. “Yeah, yeah, it’s starting to make sense now.” He looked down at Sherlock’s torso, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t want to hope, I guess.”

Sherlock kissed John’s temple. “How could you believe I only wanted a physical relationship? I’ve always wanted _you_ , John, not someone ‘more intelligent’, which is a ridiculous notion, because you are the wisest man I know. You sell yourself short, John.”

A rush of breath left John. “Sherlock,” he squeezed Sherlock’s hands tightly. His eyes definitely appeared wet now. Sherlock wanted to find whoever made John think he wasn’t important and bludgeon them. He felt the overwhelming need to protect John, to tell him how important he was, to smother him in kisses.

Sherlock pressed quick kisses to the corner of John’s mouth, his nose, forehead, cheek, jawline, and neck. John made a small, quiet whimper, and Sherlock’s chest felt so tight it was on the brink of exploding. Whatever creature hurt John in the past definitely didn’t deserve him. No one deserved John Watson, not even Sherlock himself.

“You’re extraordinary,” Sherlock said reverently.

John let out a strangled, desperate sound and crushed his mouth against Sherlock’s, lips firm and forceful. Sherlock kissed back, moving his lips with John’s and sucking his bottom lip. John let go of one of Sherlock’s hands and grabbed the curls at Sherlock’s nape. As usual, it made Sherlock’s prick twitch with interest. But, he wanted this time to be different. Sherlock broke the kiss with a _pop_ and kissed John’s neck, right below his ear, suckling gently. All of their times together were fast and intense, which was really, really good, but Sherlock wanted to slow everything down. They were in his home now, with no more misunderstandings between them (for the most part; John still didn’t know Sherlock loved him. Should he tell? Decide later). He wanted to make love to John.

The tip of Sherlock’s tongue briefly tasted the sweat on John’s neck, and then he went back to gentle kisses.

John grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders and held on, “Sherlock,” he whispered.

Sherlock kissed up to John’s ear, pressing his lips against the shell. “My John,” he murmured against John’s skin, “please, let me take you to bed. Please.”

“Oh, Sherlock, yes,” John groaned in a mixture of blossoming arousal and strong emotion.

Sherlock pulled back. His breath caught in his throat when he saw unshed tears filling John’s eyes. One day, he would ask (or deduce, more likely) who hurt his John. But now, he was focused on healing. He kissed both of John’s cheeks. “Come with me,” he whispered.

“Lead the way,” John tried to sound lighthearted, but it came out shaky.

He led John by the hand to his bedroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tidied up, but Mrs. Hudson had done it for him. He would thank her later. Once the door was shut, he wrapped his arms around John’s waist and kissed him soundly, their lips sliding together. John’s arms wrapped around Sherlock’s neck and they kissed languidly, the wet sounds of their kisses filling the bedroom. John’s lips parted, turning their kisses open-mouthed and heated. Sherlock wanted to pick John up and put him on the bed, but that probably wouldn’t turn out well. So, he placed his hand on John’s hip and nudged him backward as he took a step forward. John got the hint and they moved toward the bed, still kissing, until the back of John’s knees hit the edge of the mattress.

They moved on top of the mattress, John on his back and Sherlock hovering over him. They broke apart for air and simply stared at each other, gazes heated. Sherlock felt his semi-hard cock twitch again. John looked exquisite. His blond hair was ruffled, lips wet and parted, cheeks pink, and eyes filled with all the trust in the world.

 _That’s for me,_ Sherlock marveled. _He trusts_ me.

Sherlock noticed John’s growing bulge, so he tugged at his jumper. “Take this off?”

“You, too,” John said as he sat up to remove his jumper and vest underneath.

Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as possible and threw it on the floor. He gulped when his attention went back to John, eyes roaming over his bare chest. He placed his hand over John’s heart, flexing his fingers in the golden hair, and John chuckled nervously. “Petting me like a cat?”

“Admiring you,” Sherlock said. He leaned down and kissed John’s collarbone, mouthing at it, sucking it. He heard John gasp and took that as encouragement, sucking harder, then soothing the spot with kisses when John groaned. He kissed his way down John’s chest, pausing to kiss his nipples briefly, and settled above John’s belt where the golden hair began to thicken. When he got down that far, Sherlock felt John’s bulge against his throat. He pushed himself up and sat back on his heels, surveying his work.

John’s hands were up by his head and he was breathing heavily out his parted lips. Sherlock couldn’t help himself: he kissed the tip of John’s nose and rubbed their cheeks together. “You’re so lovely.”

“Me?” John asked incredulously.

“You,” Sherlock confirmed, pressing his mouth against John’s and slipping his tongue past his lips. Tingles washed over his body when their tongues met, sliding together. Sherlock brought his hand down to unzip John’s trousers. His hand slid into the trousers and cupped John’s bulge, feeling the weight of it. Sherlock could feel John hardening in his hand, which made him want to moan. He rubbed his thumb over the wet patch on the front of John’s pants.

John shuddered and wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s hips, but became self-conscious and lowered his legs.

Sherlock nipped John’s lip playfully. “It’s all right,” he patted John’s leg.

John slowly wrapped his legs back around Sherlock, as anticipating Sherlock to tell him to get off.

Sherlock, on the other hand, found the idea of John wrapped around him surprisingly hot. He wanted John completely naked, and told him so.

“Okay, but you get naked, too,” John said.

“Of course,” Sherlock said and took off his trousers and pants, sighing with relief when his hard cock sprung free. He didn’t feel like taking his socks off, but he wondered if having sex with socks on was weird.

John snickered. “Keeping your socks on?”

“I will now,” Sherlock said spitefully.

One finished undressing, John lay down on his back, nerves temporarily eased by teasing Sherlock’s socks. Sherlock climbed back on the bed and stared down at John, licking his lips. Having John nude, flushed, and vulnerable beneath him, cock glistening, filled Sherlock with hunger. He kissed John’s neck and thrust his cock against John’s and they both moaned.

As much as Sherlock loved this action, he wanted more. Keeping his thrusts short enough not to work himself up too much, he cupped John’s thigh and smoothed his hand up to his buttock, squeezing.

He hesitantly brushed his index finger over John’s hole. “John, will you let me?”

John pressed his lips together, chest heaving. He was so perfect Sherlock could have whined.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just...careful, okay?”

“I would never hurt you,” he said.

He reached up and brushed a sweaty curl away from Sherlock’s forehead. “I know. Just a precaution.”

Sherlock retrieved a half-empty bottle of lube from the bedside drawer.

John raised an eyebrow. “Have you been using that a lot lately?”

“Oh, hush,” Sherlock slapped his thigh lightly. He squeezed some lube onto his fingers and put them against John’s entrance.

John jumped, “Sorry. It's cold.”

“Sorry.” Damn, Sherlock should have known he had to warm it. He felt John tense as Sherlock circled around his hole. To distract him, Sherlock used his other hand to grip John’s cock, giving it long, slow strokes. He wanted to ease John’s nerves, but not make him come. Yet.

“Sherlock,” John groaned through clenched teeth, his fingers bunched in the duvet.

Sherlock slowly slid a finger in. It was so hot it took Sherlock’s breath away. A part of his body was inside John. Over the next few minutes, he slowly fingered John, adding his middle finger, thrusting them in and out, and stretching.

John was covered in sweat and panting, knuckles white, until he moved his hands to clutch Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Uhh!” John moaned, fingernails digging into the pale skin of Sherlock’s shoulder, imprinting little crescent-shaped marks. “Feels good, Sherlock, feels so fucking good. I think I’m ready, baby.”

John was so far gone he hadn’t even realized he said the term of endearment, and Sherlock had to stop himself from sputtering in shock. The word went right to the head of his cock and Sherlock could have sworn hearing the word made a bead of precome drip.

“O-okay,” Sherlock stammered, dizzy with lust, and grabbed a condom from the drawer, tearing the packet open. Thank god he’d stocked up in anticipation for an occasion like this. They didn’t _need_ condoms, but the lube on it might make John feel more comfortable (and Sherlock would come instantly if he went into John bare).

He rolled the condom onto his rock-hard erection, applied lube, and tilted his hips down, slowly entering John.

John’s eyes went huge and his mouth dropped open in a soundless cry. His legs trembled around Sherlock’s waist and his fingernails were digging into Sherlock’s skin so deeply it was starting to hurt.

Sherlock didn’t notice, though. He was too busy trying not to come then and there. Why the fuck had he never done this before? He was completely surrounded by heat. He lowered his head on John’s chest and groaned loudly, stilling his movement. He needed something to ground him.

“Your hands,” he said.

“What?” John asked.

“Give me your hands.”

John let his hands drop from Sherlock’s shoulders and fall onto the mattress. Sherlock held John’s hands tightly and kissed him fiercely. He was _inside John_. He broke the kiss, but kept their lips close together. “John,” he moaned, “John, I’m inside you. Oh god, I'm inside you.”

“Move,” John commanded.

Sherlock did. He pulled out until only the crown of his penis remained, and slid back in smoothly. It felt a little tight, not enough for John to be in pain, but enough for it to drive Sherlock mad. He’d never done this before, but his body knew what to do, because soon enough he was thrusting deeply and steadily. John was panting and whimpering, looking absolutely wrecked and beautiful. He moved his hips to meet Sherlock’s thrusts and Sherlock grunted.

Sherlock couldn’t hold back anything in his mind, “My John, you-- _ah_ \--you’re my everything.”

John whined and turned his head, trying to hide his face in the pillow.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, that last thrust feeling particularly good and making his eyes roll back. He blinked and tried to focus. “John, look at me.”

John moaned and looked at him, a tear escaping his right eye and running down his temple. He bit his lip to hold back a sob and hiccuped.  

Sherlock felt his eyes burn and he swallowed past the lump in his throat, on the verge of sobbing, himself. The pleasure was building rapidly now and his hips moved faster. Hiis dick must have hit John’s prostate, because John threw his head back and moaned.

Sherlock mouthed at his throat. “John, you’re perfect, so perfect,” he babbled. He squeezed John’s hands as tightly as he could. “I’m yours, John, how could you doubt?” He was utterly gone, not even feeling a tear run down his cheek or registering that he was, indeed, sobbing. “ I’ve been yours from-- _uh!_ \--from the start.”

“Sherlock!” John cried out. “Sherlock, god, I’m yours, too. Sherlock, please! God, I can’t t-take it anymore!”

Sherlock only had to stroke John’s leaking dick four times for him to come. John’s back arched and his legs squeezed tightly around Sherlock’s waist. He closed his eyes and moaned as loudly as Sherlock had ever heard him, his semen shooting on Sherlock’s belly and chest. He collapsed against the mattress and panted heavily, the last spurts of come still leaving him.

Sherlock was not prepared for how amazing it would feel to have John clench around him. He didn’t stand a chance. His thrusts became fast and erratic and, with a long groan, he came. His elbows shook and he fell on John’s chest, his entire body shaking. Not a single thought went through his head for a solid minute and it was bliss.

He started to regain his senses and pulled out of John, removing the condom and throwing it on the floor. He’d get it later. He lay next to John on his back, catching his breath and staring at the ceiling.

He turned to John, “Are you all right?”

John’s eyes were closed and his arms were thrown over his head, come shining on his stomach and a tear track at his temple. He nodded and opened his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then John smiled warmly, and tension Sherlock didn’t know was there evaporated in his chest. Sherlock grabbed an end of the duvet and wiped himself off.

“That’s cleanly,” John commented.

“We got semen on it anyway,” Sherlock reasoned.

John shrugged and wiped himself off, too. They threw the duvet on the floor and crawled under the sheets. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held him close. Mine.

John buried his face in Sherlock’s neck and hummed. “Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“We should do that again sometime.”

Sherlock chuckled, “We should.”

John--there was no other word for it--snuggled deeper into Sherlock’s embrace and sighed in contentment. Their legs tangled together, the hair tickling slightly, and it was right there--right on the tip of Sherlock’s tongue. _Tell him._

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” John cut into his thoughts.

“What?”

“How much you care,” he said quietly into Sherlock’s throat.

“You see it now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” John said, lifting his head and resting it on Sherlock’s pillow. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head. “You have absolutely no need to apologize,” he said, and it was true. “I only wish I had better indicated it earlier.”

“To be fair, I am rather stubborn,” John said. “Unless you had some kind of physical proof, I would have doubted.”

“Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed.

John’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I made a list.” He still had it! Why didn’t he think of that earlier?! He shot out of bed and ran to the sitting room where he had laid down his work bag. He unzipped the front pocket, frantically searching through the mess. He threw papers out of his bag until he reached the list he made to seduce John. Sherlock smoothed out the crumpled paper and ran back to the bedroom, throwing it at a very confused John. “I made this. See?”

John was looking at him like he was completely insane, but he read the paper. A big, goofy smile spread across his beautiful face. “Sherlock!” He broke into adorable, high-pitched giggles. “Sherlock, when did you write this?”

“The day before my experiment expl--went wrong.”

John shook his head. “I can’t believe this. ‘Compliment an aspect of his personality.’ Of course you would use your posh vocabulary to write something like this. ‘Be within close proximity of each other.’ You really had to plan this out?”

“I wanted to do it right,” Sherlock crossed his arms sheepishly.

“You’re the most ridiculous human being I’ve ever met. In a good way.” John looked at him with sparkles in his eyes. He put the paper on the bedside table and held out his arms. “Get back in here, you git.”

Sherlock crawled into John’s arms, wrapping around him like a squid. Their recent activity was catching up to him. Sherlock yawned and nuzzled John’s hair with his nose, feeling warm from his head to his sock-covered toes. He kissed John’s forehead. It felt so right to have John in his arms, like they were made for each other. His eyes felt heavy, so he closed them and hummed, a deep rumble emitting from his throat. He wasn’t sure if he ever felt this happy in his life. His toes wiggled under the sheets and he yawned again, feeling himself slipping away into sleep.

Sleepy and filled with endorphins, he held John closer to his chest. His brain decided to speak its mind, “John?”

“Hm?” John sounded tired, too.

“Love you.”

Before Sherlock could realize what he’d said and panic, he felt John cup his cheek and kiss his lips chastely. “I love you, too, you adorable man,” he confessed softly.

Sherlock smiled and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They cried during sex ayyyyyyyyyyyyy.  
> I believe this story will wrap up pretty soon.


	12. Big Brother to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love confessions are all fine and good, but they still got fired the day before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for getting this story up to 300 kudos! Seriously, guys, I cannot properly express how grateful I am that you all stuck around for this garbage.  
> Thank you :)

Sherlock floated into consciousness feeling warm and peaceful, not focusing on any particular thought. His mind didn’t immediately snap back into action, which was a rare, but blessed gift. He cherished the tranquility in his mind, knowing it would not last long. His senses slowly came back to him one at a time. First: smell. The musky scent of lingering sex and sweat filled his nostrils. Next: touch. He felt that he was naked, save for his sock-covered feet. He registered the soft satin bedsheet against his back and bare skin against his front. Yes, he remembered; he’d slept with John last night. John. Fantastic John. It was a very good night.

He wanted to go back to sleeping with John, but his ears picked up low murmuring, a high voice and a low one conversing. He groaned at the noise, wishing he were back asleep. He felt an arm come around him and a warm hand rub his back soothingly. It made him sleepy again, and so he sighed and nuzzled his cheek closer into John’s skin. However, the noise continued. When the low voice spoke, Sherlock felt vibrations underneath his cheek and ear. It must have been John. But, there shouldn’t have been anyone else in the room with them, so who was he talking to? Sherlock became alert and discovered his mouth was open and he was, to his horror, drooling. How disgusting. To make matters worse, he opened his eyes and noticed his head was resting on John’s chest. He was drooling on John’s chest _with Mrs. Hudson watching him fondly at the door._

He snapped his lips closed and sat up so abruptly it made his head spin. He wiped spit from his mouth with the back if his hand, face and neck burning furiously. “Why are you here?” he pointed a finger at Mrs. Hudson.

“I was just bringing your breakfast,” she said innocently and gestured to the tray of food on the bedside table, which had tea and toast. “I also brought your phone, which you left in the sitting room. It’s next to the tray.”

“Yes, yes, I see it.”

Mrs. Hudson went on, “I didn’t know you would have company,” she barely concealed a giddy grin.

“You didn’t think to knock?” he crossed his arms, covering his chest, which was ridiculous because he wasn’t a woman, but something about his naked chest being exposed to his landlady made him uneasy. Thank god the sheet was covering the lower half of his body.

“Calm down, Sherlock,” John looked up at him with a smirk, nonchalantly wiping the despicable puddle of spit off his chest with the edge of the sheet. “She’s very nice.”

“That’s irrelevant,” he snapped.

“Sherlock,” John said in a warning tone.

Sherlock rubbed his eyes. “All right, you’ve brought breakfast, now leave.”

“Don’t be so rude,” John smacked his thigh.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Mrs. Hudson waved her hand. “He so rarely has visitors and I think it is just lovely that he’s found someone--”

“Mrs. Hudson, please,” he cut her off.  She was treating him like a teenager who brought home his first boyfriend. She wasn’t his mother. Actually, he didn’t want to think about how his mother would react if she walked in on him sleeping on the naked chest of a stranger. She’d probably throw a party.

Mrs. Hudson said, “All right, Sherlock, I’ll leave you two alone. I know how exciting it is to bring someone home for the first time--”

“Mrs. Hudson!” he yelled. The last thing he ever wanted to hear was Mrs. Hudson’s sex life.

She left the room and Sherlock heard her go out of the flat.

He looked down at a glaring John. “Was that necessary, Sherlock?”

“Was she necessary?”

“She was bringing your breakfast. You know, doing something nice?”

John was right, but Sherlock felt really embarrassed to have been found that way. He had been naked and asleep, completely vulnerable. He was fine with John seeing him in such a state, but only John. He knew Mrs. Hudson, though. There wasn’t a valid reason to feel the way he felt. “You okay?” John touched his bicep.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, just thinking.”

John stroked his thumb over Sherlock’s skin. “Sure?”

Sherlock got out of his head enough to stare at John, and saw how good he looked. The sunlight coming in through the window made his ruffled hair golden, and his face was still soft with sleep. The tension in Sherlock’s shoulders released. “Yes.”

“Good, then come back down here,” he held out his arms. “Mrs. Hudson seems like a kind woman, but she brought you breakfast at seven in the bloody morning. I’m not ready to get up.”

Sherlock curled back into John’s embrace. Now that he was fully awake, something was prickling the back of his mind, like he should have been remembering something. Review: last night, he cleared it up with John that he meant so much more to him than a means to sex, and he topped for the first time in his life. It had to do with that first part, though the latter made Sherlock’s cock give a small twitch. Did John cry during sex? Yes, he did. He felt honored that John allowed himself to break down in front of him. He think he may have cried, but he wasn’t sure. He wouldn’t ask. Back to the point. It had to do with emotions.

_Oh._

What he was trying to remember happened after the sex: he told John he loved him. He thought John said it back, but he was exhausted by that point, and couldn’t remember clearly. He should really ask about that. He wanted to know.

“John?”

“Yeah?” he asked sleepily.

“Last night, did I say something to you?”

“You said a lot of things last night.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Something big. Important.”

“Oh. Well, you said a few important things.”

This was getting them nowhere. “John,” Sherlock said in exasperation, sitting up. “I love you.”

John smiled brightly. “That’s what you were talking about? Yeah, you said it. Love you, too.”

Sherlock clapped his hands together, fingers in a steeple under his chin. “Excellent.”

John laughed, “‘Excellent’? That’s what you have to say?”

“Is that wrong?”

“No, it’s just... _you.”_

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“It’s _you_ , and I love you, so it’s good.”

Sherlock wanted to record John saying he loved him and play the track on repeat forever. “Oh.” John’s smile was small and soft, but his eyes were burning with love. Sherlock never thought someone would ever look at him like that. He looked down at his hands, feeling overwhelmed. To hide his face, he leaned down and kissed John’s neck. “I want to kiss you, but I’m certain we have morning breath.”

John snorted. “True. What a gentleman you are, not kissing me with rancid breath,” he teased. “Have you got a spare toothbrush?”

“I believe so.”

It turns out he did have a spare toothbrush, so they crowded into the bathroom and brushed their teeth. The moment they finished, Sherlock lifted John's chin up and kissed him. He enjoyed being taller, because it allowed Sherlock to wrap himself around John. He held John's smaller, strong body against him, sucking John's bottom lip lazily. John slowly slid his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth and they tasted the mint of the toothpaste. Their tongues swirled together, hot, smooth, and wet. John slipped his hand into Sherlock’s curls, not tugging, just holding. John’s tongue left his mouth and he pulled back, looking at Sherlock with half-lidded eyes and pink, parted lips, and kissed him again. Although this was far from the first time they kissed, Sherlock’s heart still galloped whenever their lips touched.

John smiled against his mouth. “I love the sounds you make,” he whispered and kissed Sherlock again.

Sherlock tried to speak through the kiss, confused. “Mmm, what sounds?”

“All those little groans,” John kissed his cheekbone.

“I don’t make noise,” Sherlock denied.

John sniggered, “Yeah, you do. Wait, you’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Sherlock said, indignant.

John bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “You’ve made noise in nearly every kiss we’ve had, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face heated, and his mouth worked to form a response, but nothing came out. That was a disturbing piece of information.

John’s eyes darkened and he attacked Sherlock’s lips, giving him a fiery, mind-blowing kiss before pulling away. “You don’t even know you’re making noise. That is so fucking hot.”

A quick glance at John’s cock revealed that he wasn’t trying to make Sherlock feel better for being ridiculous: he really thought it was arousing.

Their kisses were turning hot and needy, but Sherlock’s ears picked up a heavy tread on the stairs, too heavy to be Mrs. Hudson again. He lifted his head.

“Sherlock?” John asked breathlessly. “Why’d you stop?”

“Someone’s coming up here.” He listened closely. The person knocked on the front door lightly, and by the sound of it, used the knuckle of their middle finger. He only knew one person with that pretentious knock, and it made his partial erection deflate.

“Damn,” John muttered. “Can you just not answer the door?”

“I would like to, but it’s my brother, I’m sure of it.”

“Why’s he here?” John tilted his head to the side.

“I’m not sure. Go put on pants. I won’t have him see you naked.”

“Aren’t you going to put something on?”

Sherlock quickly went into his bedroom and ripped the sheet off the bed, wrapping it around himself.

“I guess that works,” John said, and took on the task of finding his clothes scattered around the room.

Sherlock went into the sitting room and opened the door violently. “What?”

Mycroft didn’t bat an eyelash at Sherlock’s attire. “Good morning.”

Sherlock scowled. Mycroft was wearing a suit. He really put on a stupid suit to visit his brother at seven o’clock in the morning. Tosser. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“May I come in?”

Sherlock begrudgingly moved aside.

Mycroft entered the flat and sat in the red armchair, folding his legs.

Sherlock plopped down into his green armchair, holding the sheet tightly around him.

“It has come to my attention that you and Mr. Watson have until the closure of the academic year at your current positions.”

Sherlock’s heart sank. He had honestly forgotten about getting fired yesterday. Remembering his night with John was more of a priority in his mind.

“I could offer you a solution,” Mycroft said, turning his nose up haughtily. He just loved this, having control over Sherlock.

He did not want Mycroft’s help. He opened his mouth to tell him so, but he heard John moving around in the bedroom. John. This affected him, too. He didn’t require Mycroft’s help, but John did. John lived in a tiny flat and lived on take-away. He needed the job. It would pain him, but Sherlock had to accept Mycroft’s assistance.

Sherlock played with the hem of the sheet. “What could you do for us?”

“Here are your options: I could alter your records, so this little incident will be unknown to future employers, or I can convince Mr. Lestrade to let you keep your jobs. If you do not want to keep your current position, I’m sure I could get you two in anywhere.”

Mycroft’s offer was surprisingly good. So good it made Sherlock feel strange. “Why are you helping me?”

There was silence for four seconds and Mycroft stared at him. Without his usual condescending tone, he said, “This man seems to make you happy.”

That was...kind of him. Sherlock wasn’t sure how to handle it. It was just plain odd. He bunched the sheet in his fist and looked down at his toes, chest feeling tight.

John broke the awkwardness by walking into the room. Sherlock inhaled sharply. John was wearing _his_ red dressing gown. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the garment went down to his ankles. Sherlock really wanted to hug him, but not with Mycroft there.

“Hello,” John greeted Mycroft. “You’re Sherlock’s brother?”

“Yes,” Mycroft stood and offered his polite, cold smile, and held out his hand. “I am Mycroft Holmes.” He was scanning John, Sherlock could see. Mycroft must have known they had sex. It was obvious, given Sherlock practically being nude and John wearing a robe that clearly didn’t belong to him. Sherlock wasn’t sure how he felt about Mycroft knowing this. He wasn’t ashamed of John, but it just none of Mycroft’s business.

“John Watson,” he shook Mycroft’s hand.

“You’ll have to wash that hand later,” Sherlock said.

“Stop it, you,” John scolded without any agitation.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft glared at him, “don’t you think he should weigh in on this matter?”

“What matter?” John crossed his arms.

“Mycroft can assist us,” Sherlock explained, “he could alter our records to hide the reason why we got fired, get us positions somewhere else, or he could work with Lestrade to let us keep our jobs.”

“Are you serious?” John’s eyes went huge. “Really?” he asked Mycroft.

A surprised John was an adorable John.

Mycroft smiled smugly at Sherlock for a split second before turning his attention back to John. “Yes. Sherlock may have told you I hold a minor position in the gover--”

“‘Minor’? That’s a lie,” Sherlock scoffed.

Mycroft ignored him. “Do you have a decision now, or do you need time to think it over?”

John looked at Sherlock. “What will you do?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided,” Sherlock said.

“I think we should talk it over,” John said.

Sherlock nodded, “Good idea. Mycroft, your presence is no longer needed. I will text you our decisions when we make them.”

“God, you’re rude this morning,” John said under his breath.

Mycroft looked even more smug, and even more deserving of a punch than usual. “As you wish. Let me know soon. Sherlock, John,” he nodded to them.

John flashed him a grin and nodded.

Mycroft went to the door, but turned around, “Oh, before I leave, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Sherlock could not deal with Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft talking about his relationship status within the same hour. “Take the hint: you’re not wanted.”

“Mummy will be so pleased,” Mycroft said.

“Don’t tell Mummy! She’ll want us to come over.”

Mycroft smirked and left, and Sherlock and John were alone again.

“You’re such a brat,” John said fondly.

“He can be tolerable when he needs to be, but he’s unbearably meddling. I told him nothing of our relationship. He figured everything out himself, most likely through security cameras.”

“Has he been spying on us?” John asked, paling.

“Most likely.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think to,” Sherlock said truthfully.

John sighed. “That’s just...It’s a total invasion of privacy...You know what? Never mind. I’ll punch him in the face after he helps us.”

Sherlock grinned. “Agreed.”

John sat in the armchair opposite Sherlock. “What do you want to do, Sherlock?”

Sherlock thought about it, and it dawned on him that he didn’t want to stay at that school. Besides John, he didn’t get along well with the other staff members, and he was not, at all, comfortable with working for Lestrade anymore. Lestrade seemed like a good man, but if Mycroft were to pull strings and Sherlock worked there for the years to come, his carelessness would always hang over his head whenever he and Lestrade interacted, especially if John kept working there, too. He wondered if Lestrade told the other teachers about what happened between him and John. The students would find out, surely. They weren’t stupid. In fact, they might have already figured it out. It was such a strange thing because normally Sherlock could not care less about what people thought of him. But when it came to being with John, he felt absurdly sensitive.

John was waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want to work there after this year,” Sherlock said.

“You don’t? Why not?”

“I think I’m more tired of working there than I originally thought,” Sherlock said.. Not a total lie, maybe around 20% of the truth. “I’m tired of everyone there.”

“I can’t say I feel the same way, since I only started this year.”

“Do you want to keep working there?”

John pondered. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s a good school, but I’m not sure I like the idea of my boss knowing who I’m fucking.”

“Yes!” Sherlock blurted out.

John chuckled softly. “I take it you agree?”

“I do,” Sherlock said, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees. “This is _ours._ It is none of Lestrade’s business, or anyone else’s there, for that matter.”

John leaned forward, too, rubbing his foot against Sherlock’s. He looked Sherlock over for a few moments. “You okay, Sherlock? You seem uncomfortable with other people knowing about us.” John’s eyes were concerned, but also a little hurt.

“I’m not ashamed of us,” he said quickly. “I just…” He tried to find the right words, and his hands gestured emptily in the air. “It’s...it’s ours,” he repeated himself. “If people know about everything we do, it may lose value.”

“Our relationship, you mean?”

“Yes.”

John rubbed his foot up Sherlock’s shin, “Are you saying that our relationship won’t be special anymore?”

“That’s it!” he smiled.

John, however, looked a little befuddled. “Why do you think that? It’s not like we’d tell all of our students about what we do. ‘Good morning, class, yesterday I sucked Mr. Holmes’ cock.’”

Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh, “You’d be a liar, then, because you haven’t done that yet.”

“Later, you tit,” John kicked his shin lightly.

The teasing made Sherlock feel less tense. Yet, he needed to make John understand. “You must not misinterpret me: I want everyone to know I love you.” Okay, that was a little deeper than he’d intended. He swallowed. “I’m proud to love you, but the details of our relationship? What we do? That’s for us, John.”

John smiled softly, got up and leaned down in front of Sherlock. He kissed Sherlock gently, but not long enough. He leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s. “Sherlock,” he whispered, “you are...such a sweet idiot.”

Sherlock’s face heated, and at this proximity, John would definitely feel it. John called him _sweet._ It made Sherlock want to whimper. (God, what was wrong with him?) “Do you understand me?” he whispered.

“Yes,” John said against his lips, kissing them briefly and nudging their noses together. “You romantic, you.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock protested, but he felt himself smiling.

“You little liar,” he nibbled Sherlock’s lip playfully. “I’m sorry I didn’t get it.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock kissed his cheek. He wrapped his arms around John’s waist and pulled him into his lap, producing an _oomph!_ from John.

“Warn me next time,” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck to keep from falling.

Sherlock just kissed his Adam’s apple and held him. He should get back on topic before he started kissing John senselessly. He buried his head in John’s shoulder. “I want to work somewhere else,” he said.

John cupped Sherlock’s face and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb, shifting to sit on Sherlock more securely. “Okay. Where will you go?”

Sherlock was getting distracted by John’s arse in his lap, and an image flashed in his mind of them having sex in the chair. _Finish the conversation._ He didn’t know of other high schools in the area. As much as he liked teaching teenagers, he was also annoyed by them, with their trivial problems and angry parents calling him up. If he had the opportunity to teach anywhere, perhaps he should reconsider what grade level he wanted to teach. Nothing younger than high school. He’d probably be fired for making small children cry. Suddenly, teaching at a university sounded very appealing. Maybe he really was more tired of his job than he had realized. He was certified to teach uni, but for some reason, he decided to teach high school. What was he thinking, had he been high? Thinking back on it, he actually was.  “I’m also certified to teach Uni,” he said.

“You are?” John raised his eyebrows. “Then why teach high school?”

“I don’t know. I was young and stupid.”

“Didn’t you only start teaching there three years ago?”

“Your point?”

John laughed. “Okay, then. You’ll be Professor Holmes, then.” He tugged down the sheet put his hand atop Sherlock’s chest. “The title would suit you. It’s a bit sexy.”

Sherlock was going to get hard right underneath John’s arse. He bit the inside of his cheek and shuffled his feet on the carpet, beginning to sweat. He cursed his libido, for a more pressing thought occurred to him, and he had to compose himself before voicing it. “John, we won’t be working together.”

He frowned, fingers curling in Sherlock’s sparse chest hair. “No, we won’t. It’ll be strange.”

“It’ll be tedious,” Sherlock said, which was an understatement. They weren’t going to see each other as much anymore.

John must have sensed what he was thinking because he said, “Maybe not seeing each other at work every day will make our time together more special, eh?”

“No,” Sherlock pouted. “I want to spend every second with you.” Too strong.

John looked mildly surprised. “That might get a bit awkward when one of us has to use the loo.”

Sherlock huffed, “John.”

“Sorry.” He kissed the crease between Sherlock’s troubled brow. “I’d love to sit and snog all day,” he said lowly, “but we have to be functional adults.”

“Overrated.”

“I agree.” He nipped Sherlock’s pouting bottom lip. “Listen: no matter where we work, we’re together. We’ll be okay.”

If they worked at different locations, then they would only be able to spend time together on the weekends. That was unacceptable. He couldn’t live like that. He needed to see John during the week, but then they would have to commute back and forth from work to one of their houses, and then one of them would have to go home at some point to get ready for work the next day. Unless! Unless, they lived together.

Sherlock’s heart soared, “John, that’s it!” he grabbed John’s face.

“What?” John asked, cheeks squished together by Sherlock’s hands.

“We should live together.” He was brilliant.

John’s eyes went big and his jaw dropped. he blinked a couple times. “Sherlock, do you want that?”

“Why would I say we should do something I don’t want?”

John shook his head, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face and making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Just yesterday, you tell me our relationship isn’t just fucking and that you love me. Today, you’re telling me we should live together. Sherlock Holmes, you’re a fucking menace.”  

Sherlock understood John’s body language enough by now to know where this was going. “Do you want to?”

John made that light, high-pitched giggle he only did when he was completely void of self-consciousness. “Of course I’ll bloody move in with you,” he pressed his lips against Sherlock’s.

Both were smiling too much for it to be a proper kiss and they wound up giggling against each other’s mouths, but it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting one last chapter, probably an epilogue, just to show you where our boys end up several months down the road. Don't worry: they're going to be very happy :)  
> Please stay tuned for the epilogue! :D


	13. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are happy and in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than I expected, but there's sex, so yay!  
> This is the last chapter, my friends. Thank you all SO MUCH for supporting this. I wouldn't have finished writing this without you guys :)  
> Also, I don't know what to write after this, so if you have any suggestions, that would be great!  
> Enjoy~

_10 months later_

Sherlock sighed and shut the door behind him, hanging his coat and removing his shoes. Another day, another round of students making his faith in the future of human intellect waver. It turned out that uni students were just as annoying as high school students, but just in different ways. Sherlock was enjoying it, though. When he did get a smart student, they were, naturally, much smarter than a high school student. The higher salary was nice, too, although he cared about the students more. He was having fun, despite his annoyance. Sherlock had more or less come to terms with the fact that he would always be annoyed by humanity.

“Hey.”

Sherlock looked up and smiled at John, who was sitting on the sofa, legs stretched out and bare feet resting on the coffee table.

Well, maybe not all of humanity.

“Hello,” Sherlock said and walked to the table, tapping John’s feet. John put his feet on the floor and Sherlock sat on the table so they could face each other.

Sherlock noticed a little tension in John’s shoulders. “Long day?”

“Yeah,” John said. “Fucking posh kids. They’ve worn me out.”

“You chose to work there,” he pointed out.

“I know,” John said. “I’m not really complaining. How are you?”

Sherlock frowned and sighed dramatically, “Aside from the daily headache from the stupidity of others? Fine.”

John snorted. “Oh, hush. You had a good day and you know it. If you didn’t, you would’ve come in here and sprawled yourself on top of me.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched and threatened to grin. “Perhaps.”

“‘Perhaps’? You’ve done it countless times.”

Sherlock smirked and got up to plop himself into John’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. “See? I’m upset. I need you to kiss me,” he closed his eyes and puckered his lips.

John sniggered, “Drama queen.” He gripped Sherlock’s hips and gave him a short, closed-mouth kiss. They pulled back with a little smack and Sherlock rubbed his cheek against John’s. He just wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, but when John’s growing stubble prickled against him, it sent a shiver down his spine and a spark to his cock. John had been too tired the past few mornings to shave, and while he wasn’t anywhere near growing a beard yet, he had a five o’clock shadow. Sherlock wanted to feel it somewhere else on his body.

“John.”

“Sherlock.”

“You haven’t shaved.”

John touched his jaw. “I know,” he ran his hand over his chin, _scritch, scritch._

“Well, I,” Sherlock looked down. He was absolutely comfortable with John, but voicing requesting still made him flush. “I like it.”

John’s grip on Sherlock’s hips tightened. “Is that so? You like, what, the look or the way it feels?

“Both,” Sherlock looked up at him from underneath his lashes and deepened his voice, smiling lightly.

“Yeah?” John smiled flirtatiously. He cupped Sherlock through his trousers, squeezing his growing erection. “You want this?” John rubbed his cheek against Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock stiffened and nodded.

John chuckled lowly, “Okay, love.” He patted Sherlock’s thigh. “On the couch.”

John was going to take him _here._ Sherlock quickly lay down on his back. John shifted on the cushions sat on his knees, positioning himself toward Sherlock. He ran his hand up Sherlock’s leg slowly, watching goosebumps form on the pale skin of Sherlock’s forearms. John’s hand slide to the underside of Sherlock’s thigh, coming up to cup his testicles.

He leaned down and kissed Sherlock hard on the lips, then moved to his neck, nuzzling his face against it. The stubble made Sherlock’s skin tingle and he inhaled sharply. He squirmed and rolled his hips against John’s.

John kissed and sucked his neck, moving his hips with Sherlock and making sure to pause every few seconds to rub his stubble against his neck. He was leaving stubble-burn, surely.

“You’re getting so hard already,” John whispered and licked into Sherlock’s mouth.

As if on cue, Sherlock felt himself get harder. John’s absolute attention always did that to him. “Mmm,” Sherlock groaned at the delightful slide of John’s bulge against his.

John broke the kiss and got to work. He unzipped Sherlock’s trousers, and Sherlock lifted his hips and allowed John to pull his trousers down to his ankles. John also pulled down Sherlock’s pants, and his cock bobbed against his stomach.

John braced his hands on the sofa and leaned down, lowering his face to Sherlock’s creamy thighs. He kissed Sherlock’s inner thigh, sucking it, then rubbing his cheek against the reddening spot.

Sherlock hissed and he stroked himself. He didn’t know why this drove him crazy. It just did. Sherlock felt himself sweating, so he unbuttoned his shirt with fumbling hands and took it off, throwing it on the floor, breathing heavily. Mrs. Hudson was home, so he had to try to keep quiet. He was underneath John, his lower half bare, and John was completely clothed.

“John, take off your clothes. It’s not fair.”

He expected John to call him a brat, but he just took off his trousers and jumper, leaving him shirtless and in his pants. “Better?”

“I can’t see your penis,” Sherlock pouted.

John snickered and got out of his pants. His hard, flushed cock hung heavily between his legs. It always amazed Sherlock how John could be so aroused, but focus solely on making him feel good. When John got doing...whatever it was he was planning to do, Sherlock had to make sure John had an orgasm, too.

John planted kisses on Sherlock’s chest, pausing to rub his stubble against the pale, sensitive skin. He nibbled at one of Sherlock’s nipples, and then continued trailing down his body until he reached the dark patch of pubic hair. John licked his lips and wrapped his mouth around the head of Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock’s breath was knocked out of him. So that’s what John was planning. They didn’t do this as often as other things, because neither had experience with this particular activity before getting together, but Sherlock had zero complaints.

One hand gripped John’s hair and the other clawed into the leather cushions, his breath shaky from being consumed by fire. At least, that’s what it felt like. His toes curled tightly as John took in more of his cock. John couldn’t take in all of Sherlock (yet), so he wrapped his hand around the root and stroked as he began to move his head up and down.

Sherlock was aware that his loud moans were filling the room, but how was he expected to stay quiet when John was doing _this?_ He would have shoved one of the throw cushions over his mouth to muffle himself, but he was already too far gone, trembles already taking over his body. He was completely surrounded by the wet heat of John’s mouth, his tongue, and pleasure spread all over Sherlock’s cock, blooming at the head, and traveling down the base. Sherlock wanted to kiss John, hold him, thank him for making him feel so good, but he was at the mercy of John’s mouth, helpless.

John’s mouth went up to the tip, his tongue swirling, and then licking the underside of Sherlock’s cock. John then mouthed at his warm testicles and Sherlock’s hips twitched and jerked before he could stop himself. John pulled off and Sherlock whined loudly.

“I’m sorry, please keep going,” Sherlock said, voice gravelly from shouting.

John’s eyes were dark and his chest heaved with each breath. His dick was leaking. “Where’s the bottle?”

Sherlock fought past the fog of his mind to remember what John was talking about. “Beneath the cushion you’re sitting on,” he said.

John reached into the sofa and pulled out a bottle of lube, coating his fingers, and he took Sherlock back in his mouth as his coated fingers circled Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock’s back arched when one of John’s fingers entered him, and he bit his lip to turn his shout into a muffled groan. John pulled off again and Sherlock thought he was going to explode.

“John, please!”

“I don’t want you to come yet,” John said hoarsely, working his finger in and thrusting it quickly, but not enough to be painful.

Sherlock threw his head to the side and screwed his eyes shut. Looking at John’s aching erection just made his own throb.

John worked his fingers in and prepped Sherlock quickly (which was fine because Sherlock had things up there a lot lately. How aroused he was helped distract from any discomfort, too). John slid his fingers out. “On your side,” he said gruffly.

Sherlock obeyed and turned on his side, away from the back of the sofa, leaving space for John. He loved this position because John was able to hug him from behind. John slotted his body behind Sherlock’s and pushed his pelvis against Sherlock’s lower back, the wet head of his cock brushing up to Sherlock’s slackened hole.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso and clasped his hands on his chest, holding him. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, more than desperate now.

John pushed his cock into Sherlock in a long, smooth slide. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and he moaned at the delicious sensation of being filled. He felt hot everywhere and his curls were sticking to his forehead with sweat. He started panting, the sound of his breaths mingling with John’s grunts.

John threw his leg over Sherlock’s thigh, the angle allowing him to go in deeper. He bit Sherlock’s shoulder, groaning into his skin.

“Sherlock, fuck, _Sherlock,”_ John rocked his hips lightly before catching himself and stopping.

“I’m okay, _move,”_ Sherlock panted.

John held Sherlock tighter to him and started moving, his thrusts deep, long, and forceful. If it weren’t for John’s strong arms around him, Sherlock would have fallen off the sofa. John’s thrusts filled Sherlock’s body with sharp pleasure, sending jolts to his prick, causing him to gasp after each thrust. He was already close before John entered him, so there was no way he could last more than a few minutes, and John’s throaty moans were not helping.

“John,” Sherlock turned his head back, “kiss me.”

John kissed him hard, sucking his lips and biting them, thrusting harder. “You’re stunning, Sherlock,” he breathed against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock saw that John’s mouth was open and his eyes were half-closed, a sign he was getting close.

John buried his face in between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, stubble brushing his skin. “My Sherlock,” he gasped, “oh, my gorgeous man. I love you so much, you've no idea.” He held Sherlock and thrust roughly into him. “You’re doing so well, Sherlock. I've got you.”

Hearing John’s praises and feeling his stubble and cock inside him made Sherlock whimper and his hand fly to his cock.

“That’s it,” John nipped his earlobe. “Touch yourself. _God,_ come for me, Sherlock. Come for me you-- _ah_ \--amazing man.”

Sherlock tugged at his erection twice and then he was coming, hard, spilling all over his hand and abdomen. White-hot intensity filled his entire being and he was probably shouting, he wasn’t sure, but he was aware of John coming into him.

The next thing he knew, John was wiping him down with Sherlock’s discarded shirt. “John?”

John grinned, “You’re back?”

“I wasn’t aware I left,” Sherlock said, rolling onto his back.

“You were out of it for a couple minutes.”

“Again?”

“Again,” John confirmed.

“That’s my shirt,” Sherlock said lamely.

“I’m going to wash it later. I’m not like you who just uses my clothes and throws them somewhere, only to show up weeks later all disgusting and crusty.”

Sherlock laughed, but didn’t deny it. Then, he remembered what John said when he was close to the edge, and was horrified he didn’t say it back. “John,” Sherlock sat up and cupped his jaw, “I love you, too.”

John’s grin turned into a toothy smile. “I know,” he kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “Let’s relax in bed. I don’t think my back can take the sofa much longer.”

“You’re in pain?” Sherlock frowned.

“A little,” John rubbed his neck. “It’s probably from grading.”

Sherlock felt ashamed that he hadn’t noticed this. All of the signs were there! “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not a big deal.” John never failed to downplay any discomfort he experienced.

“Come,” Sherlock stood and held out his hand, “I’ll give you a massage.”

“Really?” John took his hand, flabbergasted.

“Yes,” Sherlock pouted, “is that not okay?”

“It is,” John said. “You’ve just never given one before.”

“You never asked.”

“True.”

When they got to the bedroom, Sherlock pulled down the duvet and sheets and told John to lie down on his stomach. He got massage oil from the bathroom (from an experiment months ago) and rubbed it on his hands, arranging himself on the bed so he was hovering over John. He looked over John’s body and saw that his upper back and shoulders needed the most attention.

He began to rub his fingers on John’s warm skin and John hissed. Sherlock’s hands flew away. “Did I--?”

“It’s good, muscles are just tight,” John said, slightly muffled by the pillow.

Sherlock resumed his massage and kneaded at the muscles firmly, drawing the tension out. As he worked, John became more relaxed.

“I forgot to tell you,” John said, “I got an email from Greg today.”

“Who?”

“Lestrade?”

“Oh, him. Why?”

John sighed when Sherlock’s hands moved to his shoulders. “That feels good. And he was just asking how we are. How we like our jobs, how our relationship is, that kind of stuff.”

“Why does he care?” Sherlock asked, his thumb working on a particularly tight knot.

John grunted, frowning at the pain. “Why? He likes us. You know he didn’t want to fire us. He felt bad about it.”

“I know.” A twinge of insecurity hit him. “What did you say about us?”

John smiled at him from over his shoulder. “That we’re very happy and plan to be together for a very long time.”

Sherlock held back a smile, sunshine filling his stomach. “Good.” He should probably ask about Lestrade. After all, he did do them a favor by not firing them right away. “How is he?”

“Good. Actually,” John chuckled, “he’s not much better than we were.”

“What?”

“You’re not as observant as you thought, Sherlock Holmes.”

“What?!” Sherlock yelled, aghast, crossing his arms.

“Shh!” John giggled. “You’re loud. Lestrade and Molly? They’re an item.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped. _“Molly?_ I thought she was interested in _me.”_

“She probably moved on after finding out you were taken.” He looked at Sherlock again. “Are you really going to stop because I teased you?”

Sherlock grumbled and resumed the massage. “Lestrade and Molly. It could work, I suppose. They would be faithful to one another. She’s considered cute, isn’t she? She’s probably a nice change from his ex-wife.”

“He actually said something along the lines of that,” John said, yawning. “I’m happy for him. He’s a nice bloke and he helped us. Speaking of which, your brother--”

Sherlock groaned in agony.

“No, hang on. He really saved our arses.”

“Don’t care.”

“We should buy him a fruit basket. It’ll help his diet.”

Sherlock snorted. “An amusing notion, but he is not worth the effort of buying a fruit basket.”

They fell into peaceful silence. As Sherlock continued to give a massage, John’s eyes kept fluttering closed and his breathing got heavier. After Sherlock worked out all the knots in his back, he stroked John’s cheek with his knuckle. John hummed and leaned into the touch. Sherlock did allow himself to smile now. John looked absolutely adorable. His hair was still messy from sex, and a sleepy John always made a lump form in Sherlock’s throat.

Sherlock lay down next to John and wrapped his arms around his waist, guiding John onto his chest. John, half-asleep, crawled on top of Sherlock and cuddled into Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock lifted John’s left hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently.

John hummed happily. He pressed a sleepy kiss to Sherlock’s collarbone. “Thanks for the massage,” he mumbled.

“It was my pleasure,” Sherlock said sincerely. He lowered John’s hand to his chest and ran his hand through John’s short golden hair, watching fondly as John’s features eased completely and his lips parted. Sherlock hugged John a little tighter with his left arm, but light enough not to disturb him.

Their hearts were beating in sync, which was a feeling Sherlock always loved. He looked up at the ceiling. He was living comfortably in a flat with a motherly landlady and the man he loved. How did this happen? What did he do to deserve such happiness? He didn’t give a damn about the answer. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be in a relationship with the love of his life, he would have snapped at them for mocking him.

John started snoring softly and Sherlock smiled wider, deciding to close his eyes and join his partner in slumber.

He was loved by John Watson. How Sherlock could he not love his life?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this story, partly because it has more sex than any of my others.  
> Once again, thank you all for reading and leaving kudos and comments.  
> If you guys want to read a story that isn't an AU and is all about Sherlock wanting to confess his love to John throughout the events of seasons 1-3, I just wrote a one-shot called, "Meant to Say, Always". It's on my page. Just wanted to let you guys know I don't only do AUs.  
> Thanks again, muffins :)


End file.
